


blink

by frockbot



Series: Tricksters [8]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: Adoption, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder Mystery, Persona 3 References, Persona 4 References, Persona 4 Spoilers, Persona 5 Spoilers, Persona 5: The Royal Spoilers, Post-Canon, everything is going to be fine, how do you parent and be a retired superhero at the same time, how do you parent yourself in tiny angry girl form, i'll mark every chapter with the necessary tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 23
Words: 124,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26145892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frockbot/pseuds/frockbot
Summary: Do you want kids? Ren asked Akechi two years ago, the night they decided to get married. Yes. He did. They do. So when they’re given the chance to adopt a pair of sisters, ten-year-old Maya and two-year-old Sai, they take it.They’re prepared for a rough transition: for arguments, and upset, and struggle. That, they can handle, or find ways to handle. They are not prepared for the resurgence of an old and familiar evil that threatens to destroy the tenuous family they’ve built.They probably should have expected it, though. After all, this always happens to them.[Takes place 17 years post-game and 16 years post-Doomsday. You don't have to have read my other fics to start here, but maybe you should?]
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Series: Tricksters [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1765963
Comments: 717
Kudos: 412





	1. Safe Ship, Harbored

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** references to child neglect and suicide; mild gore; persona 4 spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86wc6PIOB88)
> 
> [_Wasn’t born a safe ship_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86wc6PIOB88)
> 
> [
> 
> _Something wore me down_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=86wc6PIOB88)

They were going to adopt. Akechi was adamant about that, and Ren was only too happy to go along. It was, they were warned repeatedly, a long and arduous process, especially for gay men, especially since it had only been a few months since gay men had been authorized to apply. They didn’t care. Whatever it took.

It took a year. The first three months were a dizzying rush of activity: interviews, reference checks, background checks, home visits and inspections. Questions about their marital status, their employment, their income, why they wanted children, why they thought they were qualified to raise children, what they expected from a child once they got it. Then, silence, for another three months; and then a letter in the mail, clipped and curt, _You have been approved. We will contact you with potential matches_.

Six more months of silence followed.

And finally, finally, as he stepped out of the office at the end of a long day, Ren discovered a voicemail on his phone. “ _Hello_!” said a feminine voice in his ear. “ _This is Tomoyo Toda, from the Shibuya Child Guidance Center. If you could please return my call at your earliest convenience—_ ”

Two days later, Akechi and Ren leaned forward as Toda, a short woman with chin-length black hair, slid an open file folder across her desk toward them.

“This is Saiko,” she said, tapping a photograph paperclipped to the top of the folder. “She’s two.”

Akechi’s head brushed Ren’s temple as they peered at the picture. Saiko had small, dark eyes, fluffy black hair cut to just above her ears, and extremely round, bright pink cheeks. Her nose was pink, too, and Ren could see tears glinting in the corners of her eyes. She hadn’t been happy when they took this picture. His heart compressed.

“She came to us six months ago with her older sister, Maya.” Toda opened another file folder, revealing another picture, and Ren stiffened.

The sharp-jawed, furious little girl staring out at them was Akechi in miniature. She had the same fine cheekbones, the same brown hair, the same look of utter contempt and outrage. Her eyes were different, though, narrow and dark like her sister’s. She could have been Akechi’s sibling; his cousin. _Probably_ she wasn’t: if Akechi’s mother had family, they’d never come forward, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Certainly she was not his daughter, biologically speaking. Legally speaking, though…

Ren glanced at his husband, who was sitting very still, and gripped his hand. Akechi linked their fingers and held on tight.

“Maya is ten,” Toda continued. “The girls have different fathers, but neither are in the picture. Their mother was…she had difficulty caring for them, especially after Sai-chan was born. She committed suicide.”

Ren huffed out a breath, “ _oh_.” Akechi’s jaw tightened.

“They’ve been at the institution since then. Sai is quiet, but sweet. Maya is…” Toda shrugged, grimaced, spread her hands. “It’s a tough transition at the best of times. Akechi-san,” she said to Ren, who was well accustomed to being referred to this way, “we’re hoping that your experience as a counselor could give her the soft landing she needs. Obviously you wouldn’t counsel her yourself, but no doubt you have colleagues…”

“Of course,” Ren said. “We’d set her up with someone right away. What about Sai-chan?”

“Emotionally, she seems fine. She would probably benefit from speech therapy, at least for a while. Unfortunately, there’s not much opportunity for constructive chatter in an institution.”

“We can handle that.”

Toda smiled at them. “We think so too. Would you like to meet them?”

Akechi and Ren exchanged a look, brief but charged, and said in unison, “Yes.”

Toda led them out of her office and down a bright, freshly-painted hallway. Wrinkled drawings papered the walls, almost universally in crayon, all going for the same aesthetic: childlike. Yusuke would have been offended by the wobbly lines, the garish colors, the constant repetition of vaguely feminine stick figure + vaguely masculine stick figure + generic small stick figure. No child alive would have really drawn a picture like that, but here they were anyway, leering out at Ren from old computer paper. The whole thing was stale, calculated; there were no actual children in sight or within earshot. Ren guessed—he could confirm with Akechi, later—that the kids slept, ate, and played in much less pleasant surroundings, far from the prying eyes and listening ears of potential guardians.

Ren squeezed Akechi’s hand twice, got one squeeze in return. _You okay? Yes_.

At the end of the hall was a yellow door. Toda turned to them.

“Now, don’t be nervous,” she said. “The first meeting can be awkward, but I have no doubt you’ll make a connection. Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Ren said. Akechi nodded.

Toda threw open the door with a flourish, and beckoned them through.

Beyond was a small, square room. Painted on one wall were a bunch of happy kittens playing beneath a rainbow; paper suns and stars dangled from the ceiling. In the middle of the tile floor was a plastic table that had seen better days, surrounded by ragged zabuton. Maya knelt on one of them. As soon as Akechi and Ren came in, her head snapped up, and she eyed them both with a suspicion that was ancient and familiar. Oh, boy. They had their work cut out for them.

Another girl, this one a teenager, stood to one side. She was probably a volunteer, probably here to beef up her college application. Little Sai, eyes round and vague, clung to her like a lemur, with her legs wrapped around the girl’s waist and her hands tangled into her shirt. The toddler blinked at the intrusion, looking from Toda to Akechi to Ren. She lifted her arms and leaned forward, grasping.

“Oh,” Ren said, and then, “Um,” as the teenager hurried over and handed Sai to him. She was soft, and warm, and so _small_ , even for her age. She clung to him with surprising strength, locking her pudgy arms around his neck and her legs around his torso, and leaned her cheek against his. She smelled like antiseptic, and her hair was rough and badly combed, and if her clothes were already chafing _his_ skin, he couldn’t imagine what they were doing to hers.

Ren gathered her tightly against him, throat too tight to speak.

“Maya-chan,” Toda said, “these are the Akechis.”

Maya stood up. “ _Tod_ …a-san—” She leaned too long on the first syllable, so that it almost sounded like she was saying _toad_ —“says you want to adopt us.”

“That’s right,” Akechi said.

She tilted her head, fixed him with one gimlet eye. “Why?”

Toda sputtered. “Maya-chan, that’s—”

“I grew up in a place like this,” Akechi replied, absently tugging on his sleeves. “I swore that if I ever had the chance, I’d help other children get out.”

“So we’re your charity case.”

“ _Maya_ ,” Toda scolded.

“What’s wrong with that?” Akechi asked. “If it means you have a safe home to go to?”

Maya wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips. Ren was glad she could still be transparently dubious, glad she hadn’t spent enough time in this place to construct a grotesque mask for herself. He hoped she never would.

“What if I say no?”

“Maya,” Toda said, sharp and cold. “You might try a little humility. A little gratitude. These gentlemen are offering you a chance you’re not likely to get again—”

Ren and Akechi turned, as a single unit, to face her, Ren glowering and Akechi narrowing his eyes.

“Why would you say that?” Ren demanded.

Toda took a step back, opened her mouth, closed it. “Well, it—it’s the truth! It’s hard to place a child of her age—”

“I don’t care if it’s true. Why would you say it in front of her?”

“She needs to understand—”

“We’re not bringing her home because you scared her into it,” Ren said, propping Sai on his hip. “We’re bringing her home if that’s where she wants to be.”

“Respectfully,” Toda said, “she’s ten. This is a rather serious decision to entrust to a ten-year-old.”

“It is, isn’t it,” Akechi replied coolly. “Maya, what do you think?”

Maya glanced at her sister, at her small, pudgy hands fisted in Ren’s blazer.

“I think it could be nice,” she said, lifting her chin. “Living with you.”

A star burst inside Ren’s chest. He beamed. Maya made a face, looked away.

“I’m Ren, by the way,” Ren said, and nodded at Akechi. “That’s Akechi.”

“Akechi,” Maya said, flat.

“My first name is Goro,” Akechi said. “But no one calls me that. Not even Ren.”

“But of course it would be right and proper,” said Toda, “for you to call them Father and—”

No wonder Maya had almost called her Toad. “No,” Ren said, “Ren and Akechi are fine. How soon can we bring them home?”

Still stinging from the rebuke, Toda managed, “Well! Well. We’ll need to finalize the paperwork, and we’ll conduct one more home visit once you’ve purchased all the supplies you’ll need to care for them, so—about two weeks?”

Ren’s heart sank. Two weeks. Two more weeks trapped here with people who disdained them, with caregivers who, even if they really cared, couldn’t possibly provide enough attention to prevent kids like Sai from becoming touch-starved and withdrawn.

“Excuse me,” he said to the teenage girl. “What’s your name?”

She jumped, blushed. “Um, um, Aki, sir.”

“Aki.” Ren smiled at her. “It’s nice to meet you. How often are you here?”

“Um, um, most days, sir.”

“Could you keep an extra eye on Sai and Maya for us? Until we can bring them home?”

Aki’s eyes widened. “I—y—yes! Yes! I’d be—yes!”

“Great.”

He gently unlatched Sai, passed her back to Aki, who cradled her with newfound resolve.

“You’ll be okay here?” Akechi asked Maya.

Maya snorted. “Course I will.”

“Then we’ll see you soon,” Ren said.

***

As it turned out, they needed those two weeks to prepare. It was easy enough for Akechi to take leave from work; all he had to do was tell Naoto, who promptly offered him her son Kano’s old crib. Ren, on the other hand, had to arrange for other counselors to take on his clients and inform said clients that he’d be on leave for as long as it took for his family to settle in. Everyone was happy for him, but not so happy that they weren’t also nervous about losing him.

On top of that, they had to talk to Maya’s current school about transferring her, and new schools about accepting her. They had to schedule Maya’s first session with Hinata Fukuda, a counselor recommended by Akechi’s therapist; and Sai’s first session with Yota Ichii, a speech-language pathologist. They had to (gratefully) collect hand-me-downs and gifts from their numerous friends, especially Ann and Ryuji, Mitsuru and Akihiko, and Kanji and Naoto, who had clothes and toys and books and furniture to spare from five, fourteen, and thirteen years of parenthood, respectively.

Sojiro brought them a month’s worth of curry, packed neatly into individual bento boxes. Futaba and Yusuke sent a care package containing sixty cans of tuna (for Morgana, who was thrilled), a painting of a seahorse, two stuffed panda bears, and a robot vacuum. Kanji, Yu, and Yosuke drove in from Inaba to deliver and construct the crib, and stuck around to help put together Maya’s bedframe, too. And so it went. There were _a lot_ of care packages, some hand-delivered, others sent through the mail, all extremely generous.

In the lulls between the waves of stress and anxiety, Akechi caught himself staring at the books on Maya’s little bookshelf, wondering which one she’d read first. Feeling a little rush of satisfaction at the sight of _four_ zabuton around the chabudai, instead of two. Affectionately ruffling Morgana’s ears, just because. He watched it set in for Ren, too, watched the light grow inside his chest and suffuse his skin, until it hurt to look at him. Akechi looked anyway. He couldn’t get enough. And when Ren saw him looking, and smiled at him, and reached over to brush his hand or leaned in to kiss him, full of anticipation and promise—Akechi was, by now, well acquainted with happiness. This was _bliss_.

They both knew it wouldn’t be easy, but it was nice to imagine that it might be okay.

The morning that they went to pick Maya and Sai up, Maya was monosyllabic. She refused Ren’s hand when he offered it, clutched her backpack—her sole possession, and barely half full—tighter, and got into the cab without a word. Sai attached herself to Akechi this time, like a warm, humanoid remora. Akechi shrugged at Ren, and Ren shrugged back, and they were off.

Maya didn’t speak until they turned into Yongen-Jaya.

“Where are we?”

“Yongen-Jaya,” Akechi replied. “Not far from Shibuya, where your new school is.”

“Do you guys…have a house?”

“Yep,” Ren said, turning in his seat to look back at her. “With a garden.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Really?”

“Really. Akechi grows all sorts of stuff back there.”

“Oh.” Maya glanced at Akechi, tipped her chin down. “That’s cool.”

“It’s actually about time for me to start planning the next round,” Akechi remarked, carefully adjusting his grip on Sai so he could shake the pins and needles out of his arm. “April’s a good month. Would you be willing to help me with it?”

Maya frowned. “Help you?”

“Yes. You could help me choose what to plant, and even put down seeds. What do you think?”

Maya fidgeted, twisted the straps of her backpack between her fingers. “I don’t know if I’d be any good at it.”

“Of course you would,” Akechi said simply.

She ducked her head so that her hair fell into her face. “Okay, then.”

Ren turned away to hide his smile.

Their house was only a couple of blocks away from Sojiro’s. In fact it was thanks to him that they lived there at all; the previous owner had been a friend of his, and when they decided to sell, he got Akechi and Ren in to see it before anyone else could. Like so many other houses in the neighborhood, it was a low, grey-brown structure with a sliding front door, surrounded by a stone fence. Ren unlocked the gate, and then the front door, and led the way inside.

Akechi paused on the genkan to set Sai down. “Shoes off, please.”

She sat at once, lips moving silently, forming the words: _soos off, peas._ She took her shoes off, arranged them neatly on the floor, lifted her arms. Ren picked her up this time, balancing her on his hip.

“Morgana!” he called. “We’re home!”

“Who’s—” Maya began.

“Finally!” Morgana yowled, trotting out of the living room. “And here they are! Wow, Akechi,” he said, peering at Maya, “she really does look like you.”

“You have a cat?” Maya said.

Sai squirmed, reaching for Morgana. Ren lowered her back to the floor, and she wavered a moment, flinging her arms out to catch her balance. Then, with a look of fierce concentration, she marched toward the cat.

“Sai,” Maya snapped, rushing over. “Be nice.”

Sai slowed down, ran her tiny palm gently along Morgana’s back. _Cat, cat_ , she mouthed. _Nice, nice_.

Morgana sniffed her face, flinched when she touched her nose to his. “Can’t she talk?”

“I don’t think she’s had many opportunities,” Ren said.

Maya frowned at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking out loud.”

Sai beamed, slid her arms around Morgana’s belly, and picked him up. Morgana, to his credit, didn’t flail, although he did puff up and unsheathe his claws.

Maya bristled. “Sai! Put him—”

Morgana swayed in Sai’s grip; he was almost as long as she was tall; and when she took a step forward, she trod soundly on his tail. Morgana screeched. Sai’s eyes flew wide. She dropped him, fell on her butt. The cat shot off and huddled behind Akechi, tail bottlebrush.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Akechi muttered.

“It hurt!” Morgana spat, licking his tail.

Maya loomed over her sister, fists clenched. “I told you to be nice! Why don’t you ever _listen_?”

Sai started to cry, which only seemed to make Maya angrier; she swelled, inhaled—

“Maya,” Ren said, stepping between them, radiating calm. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not!” Maya retorted, all teeth. Akechi’s breath caught. “I told her, I _told_ her—I knew she would—”

“It was an accident,” Ren murmured. He scooped Sai up, rubbed her back as her sobs subsided into hiccups. “It’s all right.”

“But I told her—”

“I know. You did everything right. She’ll learn.”

From the way Maya glared at him, she clearly disagreed, but she held her tongue. She was probably biting it.

“Why don’t we go see your room?” Akechi said. Ren shot him a grateful look.

“Even better,” Ren said, “let’s go see the whole house.”

Maya sucked her bottom lip against her teeth, took off her shoes. “Okay.”

The genkan gave way to a narrow hall. To the right, immediately past the entrance, was the bathroom: sink, toilet, tub with Featherman shower curtain (a gift from Yukari). Through a doorway a little farther down were the living room and kitchen, including the chabudai, sofa, Morgana’s cat tower, and the kitchen table. Left, down another, shorter hallway, were three bedrooms, the largest of which belonged to Ren and Akechi. The other two were for Maya and Sai. They went into Maya’s first.

“We bought you some clothes,” Ren said, indicating the dresser and the closet. “We weren’t sure what you liked, so we got some of everything. Let me know what you don’t want, and we can get rid of it.”

“Anything’s fine,” Maya muttered, tossing her backpack onto the bed. Her new panda bear, perched on her pillow, toppled over.

“I see you found the bed. Hard to miss. Bookshelf there. Do you like to read?”

“Yeah.”

“So do I,” Akechi said. “I hope you like the books we chose.”

“The door locks,” Ren said, showing her the button on the inside handle. “You’re free to lock it. If we knock, you don’t have to open it, but please answer us so we know you’re okay. We have a key, but we’ll only use it if we knock and you don’t say anything.”

Maya squinted at him. “Why would you—”

“This is your space,” Akechi said quietly. “We want you to feel safe in it.”

She really was terrible at hiding her feelings. They played openly across her face, compressing her mouth, dampening her eyes, creasing her forehead. She shook her head, a sharp one-two.

Ren and Akechi exchanged a glance. Ren said, “As far as we’re concerned, you can spend all day, every day, in here, with a few exceptions. Breakfast is at 8 on weekends, 7 on school days. Lunch is at 12:30, and dinner’s at six. We eat together, always. I usually start cooking at—”

“You cook?” Maya asked, like an accusation.

Ren cocked his head. “Um, yes?”

“What do you cook?”

“Lots of things. Curry, stew, dumplings…any requests?”

Maya flinched. “No.”

Akechi could guess why this was a painful subject. Ren, wisely, didn’t push the point. “I usually start cooking an hour or two ahead of time. I’m always looking for help, so if you want to learn…”

“I know how to cook.”

“Great! Then you won’t mind giving me a hand.”

She scowled, turned away.

“And obviously, we expect you to go to school,” Ren said. “But that won’t start for another couple of days.”

“Where’s Sai’s room?”

“Right next door.”

They went to see it. It was almost the twin of Maya’s, except for the crib and the board books on the bookshelf. Sai reached at once for her panda bear, and pressed her face into its fur as soon as Akechi handed it over.

“And that’s the tour,” Ren said, leading them back into the living room. He set Sai down, and she immediately beelined for Morgana. The cat clambered up the cat tower and lay there peering down at her, tail swishing just out of reach. “I should get started on lunch. Want to help out?”

Maya tensed, visibly forced herself to relax. “What are you making?”

“Stir fry. You could cut the vegetables.”

This had been a source of some debate over the past couple of weeks. Akechi didn’t like the idea of giving sharp objects to children, but Ren had pointed out that a) it would make Maya feel useful and b) handled properly, a sharp knife was less dangerous than a dull one. Akechi had ultimately conceded both points.

“Cut them?” Maya said doubtfully, trailing after Ren. “Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure,” Ren replied. Cutlery clattered as he opened a drawer. “Here, I’ll give you a paring knife…”

Akechi plopped down next to Sai, gently pulled her off the cat tower. “Who’s that, Sai?” he asked, pointing at Morgana. “Is that the _cat_? What’s he doing?”

“I’m not a cat,” Morgana grumbled. “Technically.”

 _Cat, cat_ , Sai mouthed, fingers clutching. _Cat_.

It wasn’t going to be easy. But maybe it would be okay.

***

Mitsuo Kubo lay on his futon and seethed.

He’d been doing that a lot lately, and not because anything about his situation had changed. Quite the contrary. He was still stuck in this cell. He was still eating shit food out of shit containers. He was still subject to the whims of the guards, who barely remembered he existed, definitely didn’t remember why he was here. And why should they? He’d beaten a teacher to death twenty years ago. So what? He hadn’t done anything else. He never fought with anybody, never badmouthed anybody. No one gave a damn about him.

It was infuriating.

Mitsuo thought about it all the time, how he could get everyone’s attention. He could lure one of the guards into his cell and choke them. He could throw his tray across the lunchroom. He could walk up to the biggest, meanest, nastiest inmate and spit on him. Then they’d know who he was. Then they’d talk about him the way they talked about some of the others, the yakuza guys or the triple murderers.

The problem was, he didn’t dare. The urge to act, to lash out, warred with his natural inclination toward—call it what it was—cowardice. He wanted to be known, to be _seen_ , and the easiest way to do that was to hurt people, but…hurting people had consequences. Consequences he didn’t feel like dealing with.

So he laid there, impotent rage writhing like larvae in his stomach, buzzing like a cicada in his throat. He laid there and he wished, he wished, he—

_You wish to be known?_

The voice _pulsed_ through him, rippling across every nerve, laying him open in a full-body shudder of pain. Mitsuo rolled over onto his hands and knees, gagging.

_You wish to be remembered?_

He clutched his splitting skull, half-expecting his fingers to sink into plush, rubbery brain.

_You wish to be feared?_

Mitsuo couldn’t see it, but his eyes glowed yellow.

 _I can help with that_.

“ _Augh_ ,” he choked.

_I am thou. Thou art I._

A shadow fell across him. Mitsuo lifted his head, neck creaking, vision wobbling, to look at the humanoid figure standing before him.

 _My name is Joker_ , said the figure. It was white, all white, pure white, a blank, vaguely skull-shaped head swooping down into an unnaturally long neck and an indistinct, four-limbed body, quivering like jelly. _With my help, you can summon my master. He will ensure your name lives in infamy forever_.

Joker flicked its hand. An oblong portal, purple on black, appeared beside it.

Mitsuo clenched his teeth, peeled his lips back in a grimace, felt drool trickle down his chin.

“Let’s go,” he whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh-oh spaghetti-os
> 
> dustwallow (@lacedust on twitter) drew sai and maya in TRULY adorable fashion right [here](https://twitter.com/lacedust/status/1322297746968219648?s=20)! 
> 
> You can lay the credit (or the blame??) for this fic directly at @shouldbeworking's feet, specifically for her fic [jack of hearts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742139), which I read for the first time right after I finished Royal. The line "fatherhood has always looked incredible on Goro Akechi" has been stuck in my head ever since, single-handedly transformed my conception of these two as a couple, and eventually gave rise to...all 100,000 words of this. Buckle in! And [extremely jeb bush voice] please comment


	2. Third Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e67laA_11NM)
> 
> [_And you deserve to be loved_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e67laA_11NM)
> 
> [
> 
> _And you deserve what you are given_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e67laA_11NM)

Ren woke up feeling like he’d forgotten something.

He lay there with his eyes closed, the duvet bunched around his waist, sunlight beating on his eyelids. The curtains were open. Why were the curtains open? He always closed them at night; Akechi couldn’t ever sleep through the sunrise.

Akechi.

Ren flopped out his arm, groped at the emptiness beside him, rolled over to peer at his phone. 7:42. Akechi was an early riser, but—

Six different neurons fired at once. It was 7:42. Sai always woke up at 7:00 (or, at least, she had consistently done so in the week since they’d brought her home). Every day, Ren and Akechi traded morning-dad-duties so that one of them could get an extra few minutes of sleep. Today, it was Ren’s turn to get up first. He was almost 75% sure he’d set his alarm, so why hadn’t it gone off? And why hadn’t Akechi woken him up? And—

And he could smell rice. Cursing under his breath, Ren got out of bed, flung the duvet across the pillows, and headed for the kitchen.

Morgana was sprawled in the middle of the living room, tail thumping against the rug as Sai, beaming, lay across him. “Heeeeeelp,” the cat said feebly, reaching for Ren. “I’m dying.”

Ren ignored him. “Hey,” he said to Akechi’s back, busy at the counter. “Why didn’t you wake me up? Good morning, Maya.”

“Hi,” Maya said without looking up. She was decanting leftover tsukemono into a bowl.

“Why didn’t you _wake_ up?” Akechi asked, cutting Ren a glance over his shoulder.

O- _ho_ -ho. No, sir. Not today. “I set my alarm. Did you turn it off?”

“Of course not.”

“But I set it.”

“I didn’t hear it,” said Akechi, nudging something in a skillet. It sizzled, giving off a strong smell of fish. “I got up because Sai came wandering in. She climbed out of her crib again.”

“And why didn’t you kick me out of bed?”

“Clearly you needed your rest.”

Ren strode across the room, shouldered him aside, took the spatula. “Go shower,” he said. “It was your turn.”

Akechi glared at him. “You’re right,” he said, clipped and cold. “It was my turn.”

Ren glared back. “And you could have woken me up instead of slinking off feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Feeling _sorry_ for—”

“Isn’t that what you were doing?” Ren demanded, flipping the salmon over. “Being passive-aggressive? Trying to make me feel guilty? Aren’t we past that?”

Akechi opened his mouth, closed it.

“Here,” Maya said, sliding the bowl of tsukemono onto the counter between them. “What should I do now?”

“Can you get the zabuton out, please,” Akechi said automatically.

“Sure.”

She wandered off.

“This is done,” Ren muttered, tipping the salmon onto a platter. “Where’s the natto?”

“Here,” Akechi said, getting it.

“Thank you.” Ren fetched down bowls and plates enough for each of them. “I’m sorry I overslept,” he added. “I must have forgotten to set the alarm.”

“I can’t imagine why you’d do that,” Akechi said, gently sarcastic.

Ren laughed, and that finished it. The tension in the air dissipated.

“I’m sorry too,” Akechi said, pulling his hands through his hair, wincing at the snags. “I was so tired—”

Ren kissed his cheek. “Can’t imagine why you’d be tired. C’mon, let’s eat. Then you can shower.”

***

Today was the first day of therapy for both Maya and Sai, so around ten, the four of them made their way to the counseling office in Shibuya. The receptionist, Hiro, greeted Akechi like an old friend, which he sort of was, considering he’d been coming here for—god, was it really almost fifteen years? Disgusting. He was disgustingly old. He and Ren got the girls checked in, and immediately Hinata bustled out to greet them.

Akechi had seen her around the office before. She was a small, stooped, smiling old woman, the picture of grandmotherliness, right down to the way she piled her long gray hair into a bun on top of her head. She came highly recommended; when Akechi had told his own therapist, Chuichi, about Maya, he’d said immediately, “Oh, she should talk to Hinata-chan.” And now here they were, Hinata beaming at Maya, Maya staring down at her shoes.

“Hello, Akechi-san,” Hinata said, turning her searchlight smile on him. “Ren-san. Ahhh, this must be Sai-chan!”

Sai buried her face in Ren’s shoulder. He patted her back. “This is Sai-chan," he confirmed. "How are you, Hinata-chan?”

“I’m well, I’m well! You both look exhausted. I’m sure it’s been a long week, hmm? Not to worry. You’ll get used to it.” Hinata winked, and turned to Maya. “Now then. What shall I call you? Maya-san? Maya-chan?”

“Just Maya’s fine,” Maya mumbled.

“Maya it is, then. And you may call me Hinata-chan. Would you like to come with me?”

Maya’s jaw clenched. “Do I have a choice?”

Hinata blinked, and straightened up.

“Of course you have a choice,” she said, lowering her voice. “You don’t have to go anywhere you don’t feel comfortable.”

Maya’s mouth twisted. She nodded, and Hinata beckoned her forward, and they left. Maya didn’t look back.

Akechi slumped into a chair.

“I hope they get along,” Ren murmured.

“Me too.” Akechi rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. “You’ll get _used_ to it, she said? Not _it gets better_?”

“I think you’d better take a nap when we get home.” Ren’s voice was tight with affection. Akechi aimed a half-hearted kick at him. “Ooh, cranky. I think you’d better take a nap right here.”

“Good night,” Akechi said.

“Sai-chan?” said a masculine voice, and Akechi looked up as a brown-skinned, dark-eyed man with curly black hair came bounding into the lobby. He was heavyset, generally big and soft, and beaming: at Akechi, at Ren, at Sai, who peered at him curiously. “Hello! It’s nice to meet you! I’m Yota-kun.”

 _Ota-ku_ , Sai mouthed.

“I can already tell we’re going to be great friends.” Yota offered his hand to Ren, who shook it. “I’m so sorry, which one are you—?”

“I’m Ren,” Ren replied. “And that’s Akechi.”

Akechi stood up to shake Yota’s hand too. “Hello.”

“Ren-san, Akechi-san, it’s very nice to meet you! I’m excited for us to get started. Are you both sitting in on the session today?”

“Akechi’s going to wait out here for our oth—” Ren stopped, and Akechi felt a needle prick his heart. “For Sai’s sister, Maya. She’s meeting with Hinata-chan. But I’m sitting in.”

“Great! Come on back, then. We’ll see you in about an hour, Akechi-san!” Yota chirped, and led Ren and Sai away.

Akechi sat back down.

Next thing he knew, Hiro was saying, “Psst, Akechi-san. Akechi?”

“Yes?” he croaked, jerking awake. He cleared his throat. “Yes.”

“Maya should be finishing up her session soon.”

“Thank you.”

Akechi stood up, stretched, hissed in discomfort as several things in his back twinged. The downside to napping, upright or otherwise, was that he always woke up with a sore back and a sour mouth. He padded over to the water cooler, poured himself a cup, drank it. That was better.

“There he is,” said Hinata, and Akechi turned around to see her ushering Maya back into the lobby.

Maya looked…lighter. Calmer. The way Akechi figured he looked after a session; like she’d had the chance to talk, really talk, without fear of judgement. He only realized how wide he was smiling when she caught his eye, blushed, and looked away.

“How did it go?” Akechi asked, tossing his empty cup into the trash.

Hinata looked at Maya, who said, “Good.”

“Really?”

Maya nodded, tucked her hair behind her ears.

“I’m glad.”

“Same time next week?” Hinata asked, and smiled when Akechi nodded. “Wonderful. I’ll see you then, Maya.”

“Okay.”

Hinata bustled away. Akechi resumed his seat, motioned for Maya to sit beside him. She did, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“We’re just waiting on your sister now,” Akechi said.

“Okay.” Maya paused. “Where’s Ren?”

“He went with Sai.”

“Okay. …I really do like her. Hinata-chan. She’s nice.”

Akechi could see it in her face: the softened lines around her eyes, her mouth. She looked, for the first time since he’d met her, like the kid she was, instead of the angry adult she was trying to be. Had _had_ to be, for Sai’s sake and her own.

“I’m glad,” he repeated. He reached over, carefully, giving her enough time to pull away, and ruffled her hair. “I really am.”

Maya flashed him a tiny smile.

“You guys are really cute,” Ren said.

He was standing in front of them, grinning, with Sai propped on his hip. Akechi got up.

“Speak for yourself. How was it?”

“It was good! Watch this.” Ren looked at Sai. “Sai, what animal says _cock-a-doodle-do_?”

Sai beamed, and covered her mouth, and whispered something. _Whispered something._ Audibly. Akechi froze.

“Louder,” Ren said. “Go on. What says cock-a-doodle-do?”

Sai giggled, and lowered her hands. “Oosta.”

“Rooster?” Akechi exclaimed, leaning forward. “Did you just say _rooster_?”

Sai burst out laughing, hid her face. “Oosta,” she said, muffled. “Oosta. Oosta!”

If you’d told him, even a month ago, that he would be so excited to hear a little girl say _rooster_ , he would've laughed you out of the room. But today, he could have jumped over the moon.

“Very _good_!” Akechi said, tickling her chin. “That’s very good, Sai!”

“What’s that?” Maya asked. When they turned to her, she was pointing at something in Ren’s other hand.

He held it up: it was a plastic children’s toy, with a bunch of buttons marked by animal stickers. “Sai’s homework,” he said. “She’s supposed to match the sounds to the animals. How was your session, Maya? Do you like Hinata?”

The wall had gone up behind Maya’s expression again. “Yes,” she said. “She’s cool.”

“Good,” Ren said, smiling, but she avoided his gaze.

“We should celebrate our successful morning,” Akechi said. “Maya, I’ve been thinking—it might be nice to read something together, you and me. Out loud.”

“I know how to read,” she replied, disdainful as a cat.

“I know you do. But if we read it out loud together, we’ll both get to enjoy it. We could alternate pages, or chapters, or whatever you’re comfortable with. What do you think?”

Maya sighed. “I think it sounds fine.”

“Excellent,” Akechi said. “Then how about this. Let’s go down to Central Street. You and I can stop by the bookstore, and your d—Ren—” Ren didn’t quite flinch, but almost—“can go and get us all some crepes.”

“Capes,” Sai said. Ren gave her a squeeze.

“I like crepes,” said Maya carefully, like it was a trick.

“With whipped cream?” Ren asked, nudging the door open for her.

“Yeah,” Maya said, stepping past him. “And chocolate, and strawberries.”

“You have good taste,” Akechi said, catching the door for Ren and following them out. “I prefer bananas, myself.”

They parted ways at Central Street, Ren slipping through the crowd with Sai while Akechi and Maya ducked into the cool dimness of the bookstore. They headed for the children’s section first, but there wasn’t much to see: mostly manga, which didn’t suit Akechi’s purposes, or short chapter books about princesses, which didn’t suit Maya’s.

“What sort of books do you like?” Akechi asked finally.

“I’ll read anything.”

“Fine. But what do you _like_?”

Maya hesitated, and lowered her head, and muttered something.

“Sorry?”

“Magic,” she said, a little louder.

“Ah,” Akechi said. “I see.”

And he ushered her over to the fantasy section.

“Let’s not get anything too long,” he said, scanning the spines. “Or too dark. How about this one?”

He plucked one off the shelf and handed it to her. It was a relatively slim paperback about a god who had to repent for a murder he’d committed. As punishment, he was transformed into a dog and placed in the care of a young girl on Earth.

Maya studied the book, her eyes glittering.

“Think you’ll like it?” Akechi asked.

She folded her arms around it, hugged it to her chest. “Yes.”

“Then let’s buy it.”

They joined the line to check out. Maya kept sneaking peeks inside the book, reading a few lines, snapping it shut. Akechi wondered if she knew she was bouncing up and down.

When they reached the register, the woman standing there beamed at them. “Father and daughter out on the town!” she said, taking the book. “I’m sure Mom is grateful to have the day off, eh?”

Akechi inhaled sharply. Maya turned to stone.

The cashier faltered. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—I hope I didn’t—”

“How much?” Akechi said, trying not to snap, not sure he succeeded. Beside him, Maya’s fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white.

“Oh—um—one thousand yen.”

The minute the transaction was over, Maya strode across the shop and out into the sunshine. It was the first truly springlike day they’d had this year, and it had brought just about everyone in Tokyo outside. Maya cut sideways to avoid the crowd, pressed her back against the wall, and crouched down, wrapping her arms around her knees.

Akechi stood beside her, at a loss. What would he have wanted at a time like this when he was ten? To be alone. To melt into the pavement, dribble into the sewer, where he belonged. Where he’d felt like he belonged. If someone had tried to comfort him, what would he have done?

“Maya,” he began, and then Ren was there.

“All set?” Ren asked, extending a handful of paper-wrapped crepes. “That one’s yours. Where’s—”

He saw Maya, frowned at Akechi.

“The cashier said something about her mother,” Akechi said.

Ren tensed, sighed through his nose. He passed Sai, who was merrily smearing her own crepe across her face, to Akechi, and carefully handed over two of the other crepes as well. Still holding the last one, heaped high with chocolate and strawberries, he crouched down beside Maya.

“I got your crepe,” he said.

“Don’t want it,” she muttered.

“That’s fair.” Ren examined it. “It looks really good, though. I got chocolate and strawberries in mine, too.”

She said nothing. Sai tried to stuff some custard in Akechi’s ear.

“What book did you choose?” Ren asked.

Maya lifted her head, and her expression could have boiled eggs. “What?”

“What book,” Ren repeated, “did you choose?”

How did he _do_ that? How had he done that with everyone, with _Akechi_ , for _years_?

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I’m curious.”

“About that? About the _book_?” she snarled, practically baring her teeth. “Not about my _feelings_?”

“We could talk about those too. I didn’t think you’d want to.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.” Ren plucked a strawberry from the spiral of whipped cream, popped it into his mouth. “So what book did you choose?”

Maya narrowed her eyes. “I thought that crepe was for me.”

“Akechi’s got yours.”

She straightened up, rigid and abrupt. “Can I have it, please,” she said to Akechi.

He handed it over. She looked at it, blinked hard, let out a shuddering breath. “I want to go home.”

“All right.” Ren rose, put his free hand in his pocket. “You okay, there?” he added, biting back a smile, because Sai had squashed several handfuls of banana into Akechi’s hair.

“Never better,” Akechi said dryly.

“Want me to take her?”

“No,” Akechi replied, turning to lead the way to the station. “No reason for your hair to be ruined too.”

***

Mitsuo was having the time of his life.

Joker’s portal had led to a seriously fancy penthouse loft. The exterior walls were glass, providing a panoramic view of a city far below. Everything else was either steel—the appliances, the beams between the windows, even the ceiling high overhead—or marble, pale grey veined with black. It was one big room, living room blending seamlessly through kitchen to bedroom at the far end. The only enclosed space was the bathroom, and Mitsuo had a grand time in there, soaking in the massive whirlpool tub and relaxing under the rainhead shower. He wandered naked into the kitchen, discovered that the fridge was empty, plopped himself down onto the yellow couch and switched on the TV. The screen stayed blank.

 _The current occupant is traveling,_ said Joker, behind him. _They’ll have canceled their cable subscription for the moment_.

“Well that blows,” Mitsuo grumbled, tossing the remote onto the coffee table. It clanged on the glass surface.

 _You won’t have much time for TV watching, anyway_.

“I won’t, huh?” Mitsuo scratched his stomach, got up.

In the bedroom, he threw open the massive white armoire and surveyed his options. “Heyyy,” he said. “A _girl_ lives here?”

 _Yes_.

“She must have a lot of clothes, if she can leave all this behind.” Mitsuo slammed the armoire shut, brightened, opened the top drawer of the dresser. _Yes_. “Hey, gimme some privacy, wouldja?”

Joker stood there.

“I know, I know, we’ve got shit to do, but I won’t be able to focus until I can relax. You know what I mean?”

The creature didn’t have a face, so it didn’t have an expression, but something about it suggested disapproval. _I’ll be back_.

It vanished. Grinning, Mitsuo rifled through the drawer. Should he try the lace? The silk? Ooh, what was _this_? He’d never have guessed how many different fancy-ass fabrics money could buy…

When he was done, he tossed the ruined panties into the garbage incinerator and went to take another shower.

Joker didn’t reappear until Mitsuo had cobbled together the most masculine outfit he could find: a button-up shirt over a pair of jeans. The shirt was nipped in at the waist a bit more than he liked, but it would do.

“So,” Mitsuo said, hopping onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. “What do I have to do to summon this guy? Your master?”

 _There’s a ritual_.

And all at once, Mitsuo knew what it was. It was there, in his brain, like the route he’d taken to school every morning, like the cracks and cobwebs in the corners of his cell. His stomach corkscrewed around a familiar excitement and dread. He was going to have to hurt people.

He looked down, and startled. There was a knife lying on the counter, inches from his hand. It was white, almost translucent, handle and blade carved from one solid piece of the same material. Its hilt was finely engraved with thousands upon thousands of small, staring eyes.

“I know what this is,” he said, as a memory surfaced. “My grandpa had something like this. Whalebone, right?”

 _Correct_.

Mitsuo picked it up. It was light.

“This is what I have to use.”

 _Correct_.

Slowly, he turned the blade over, touched his thumb to the edge. Watched a bead of blood bloom and course downward. Watched it disappear.

“How much blood does he need?”

 _I don’t know_.

Mitsuo coughed a laugh. “Cool. Great. Very helpful. And I guess I can’t just, like…go out and start picking off random people. Right? They’ve gotta matter.”

 _He has enemies. If you destroyed them_ , said Joker, _he would be grateful_.

Mitsuo flicked his wrist. The knife spun through the air, landed neatly in his palm. “Who’s first?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the book is real! It's called Dogsbody, by Diana Wynne Jones, and everybody should read it
> 
> a PERFECT rendition of the rooster scene brought to you by dustwallow (@lacedust on twitter) is [here](https://twitter.com/lacedust/status/1322297794095386624?s=20)!


	3. Curse of the Fold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, gore, torture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[I once knew a man who had fire in his eyes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJrgpLvhYmk) _
> 
> _[Bloody right hand, he had taken his enemies’ lives](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJrgpLvhYmk) _

[CHATLOG. Ren to Haru and Makoto, 5/7/XX, 1:30PM]

_Hey._

_We’ll be out back when you get here. Just text me and I’ll come and let you in_.

***

Ren opened the door to a beaming Haru.

“Hello! It’s so nice to see you!” she exclaimed. Her hair was gathered into a large, floofy bun at her neck, and she was holding a limp plant in a ceramic pot. “How are you?”

“Pretty good,” Ren said, closing the door behind her. “I like your hair.”

“Oh, thank you,” Haru chirped, patting it. “It’s been an adventure.”

“Is the plant for us?”

“It’s for Maya,” Haru replied. She looked fondly at the sad green leaves drooping against her shoulder. “Akechi said she’s become quite the gardener, so…”

“She’ll be thrilled. This way.”

Their backyard wouldn’t have passed for a garden in Inaba, but by Tokyo’s standards, it was lavish: a neat square of greenery edged by flowerbeds, positively bursting with foliage. On the patio, Sai toddled along behind Morgana as he paced back and forth. Akechi knelt in the grass near the fence, his hair pulled back into a short ponytail, examining the green buds of tomatoes on the vine. Maya crouched beside him, pushing through the leaves, checking for pests.

When Sai saw Haru, she froze. Morgana perked up. “Hi, Haru!”

“Mona-chan!” Haru said, kneeling down and opening her arm. He put his front paws on her shoulder and rubbed his face against her cheek. “You’ve made a friend, hm?”

“Yeeeeah,” Morgana muttered, eyeing Sai, who sidestepped them to cling to Ren’s leg. “She’s pretty annoying. She never leaves me alone.”

“She likes you,” Haru said, ruffling his ears. “Hello, Sai-chan. My name is Haru.”

 _Haru_ , Sai mouthed, pressing closer to Ren. He patted her head.

“It’s okay,” Ren said. “Maya! Akechi! Haru’s here.”

“Ah,” Akechi said, straightening up. “Hello, Haru.”

“Your tomatoes look wonderful already,” Haru said, padding lightly across the grass to him, accepting his kiss on her cheek. “I don’t know how you do it!”

“I learned from the best,” Akechi replied. “Maya,” he added, turning to her, “this is our friend Haru. Haru, Maya.”

“Hello, Maya-chan,” Haru said, twinkling. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Maya looked her up and down. “You have?”

“Oh, yes! Akechi talks about you all the time. He says you have a green thumb!”

Maya eyed Akechi. “He does?”

“Mmhm! In fact, I was hoping you could help me with something.” Haru held out the sickly plant. “Do you know what this is?”

Maya leaned in to get a closer look, shook her head.

“It’s an iris. _Iris ensata_. I’ve been trying to grow it in my garden, but it’s not getting enough water. It needs nice, moist soil. If you treat it right, it’ll give you the most beautiful purple flowers.”

Maya blinked. “If _I_ treat it right?”

Haru nodded brightly. “Why yes! I was hoping you could take care of it for me.”

“We could plant it today,” Akechi said. “What do you think?”

Maya gaped at him, closed her mouth, looked back at the plant. Gently, tenderly, she touched one of the wilting leaves. “Okay,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “All right. Yeah. Let’s plant it.”

Back on the patio, Morgana remarked, “Noir’s good.”

Ren grinned. “She is.” His phone pinged. “There’s Makoto. Are you staying back here, or going with me?” he asked Sai.

“Goin’ with you,” she said.

“Okay. Upsie-daisy.” He scooped her up, balanced her on his hip, and went to answer the door.

“Hey!” Makoto said, and gasped. “Oh,” she breathed, clapping her hands to her cheeks. “My. Goodness. You’re _so cute_.”

Sai rested her head on Ren’s shoulder, peering at Makoto out of the corner of her eye. Makoto offered her a hand, and Sai clasped her finger.

“Precious,” Makoto said, decisively. “Absolutely precious. I’m smitten.”

Ren laughed. “You and me both. Come on in. How are you?”

“I’m well.” Makoto took off her shoes, brushed her bangs out of her eyes. She’d cut her hair short and buzzed the back and sides, but left it long across her forehead. “How about you? How is everything going?”

“There’s good days and bad days,” Ren replied, leading the way to the backyard. “More good days than bad days, now.”

“Good! Maya’s settling in okay at school?”

“Seems to be. No complaints yet, at least.”

“Hi Makoto!” Morgana said, twining around her ankles.

“Hey, Morgana,” she said, bending down to scratch his ears. “I keep meaning to ask—how are you all handling Morgana? Maya and Sai can’t hear him, right?”

“They can’t, and it’s awful,” Morgana said. “I keep telling Ren to take them into the Metaverse so they’ll—”

“Even if I could do that, I wouldn’t,” Ren said, putting Sai down.

“You wouldn’t have to go anywhere! You could just walk in and walk out!”

“And then they’d know we have a talking cat. You don’t think that would raise some awkward questions?”

Morgana opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Sai picking him up. She had it down to a science now: she scooped both her arms under his belly and lifted him perpendicular to her chest. Once he was secure in her grip, she marched away with him, ignoring his squawks of protest.

“Mako-chan!” Haru cried, waving.

“Maya,” said Ren, following Makoto across the yard, “this is Makoto.”

“Hello,” Maya said, looking up from her trowel.

“ _Makoto_?” Akechi asked, with the ghost of a smirk. “Not _Inspector Niijima_?”

“ _Ex_ -Inspector Niijima,” Makoto said.

Maya frowned at her. “Huh?”

“I was a police officer,” Makoto said. “But I realized you can’t put out a burning building from the inside—”

“As I told you, repeatedly,” Akechi muttered. Haru hid a smile behind her hand.

“—so I quit. Now I’m a lobbyist for police reform.”

Maya wrinkled her nose. “Huh?”

“The police are inherently corrupt,” Makoto replied, smoothing her blouse. “We have to dismantle the system.”

“…huh?”

“Never mind,” Makoto sighed.

Morgana’s yowls were getting pretty frantic. Ren went to rescue him from Sai.

“So you guys are Ren and Akechi’s friends,” Maya said, appraising them.

“That’s right,” Haru said.

“How long have you known them?”

“Oh gosh. At least fifteen years.”

“Closer to twenty, now,” Makoto said. “We’re old.”

“We met in high school,” Haru added.

“You went to the same school?” Maya asked.

Ren brought Sai over and plunked her down in the grass. Makoto and Haru exchanged a look, which Maya noted with obvious interest.

“Um, not exactly,” Haru said. “We went to school with Ren. He introduced us to Akechi.”

“Introduced you, anyway,” Makoto said. “My older sister—also named Sae, interestingly enough—was a prosecutor. I met Akechi through her.”

“I was already a detective,” Akechi reminded Maya. “Our paths crossed fairly frequently.”

Maya’s eyes narrowed. “Hmm.”

“What’ve you got there?” Makoto added, nodding at the potted plant.

“It’s an iris,” Maya said. “Haru brought it for me to plant.”

“What a great idea! Can I help?”

“I guess so…”

***

Next up: Sojiro, Futaba, and Yusuke.

Akechi could hear Futaba chanting all the way down the hall. “You’re here!” she said. “You’re here, you’re here, you’re here, you’re here—” She threw open the door, beamed, flung her arms around Ren. “You’re here!”

“ _You’re_ here,” Ren laughed, lifting her off her feet. “We’ve been here this whole time.”

“You could’ve come to visit!” she protested. “Osaka’s not that far. Hi, Akechi.”

“Hi,” Akechi said. Sai, clinging to his shoulder, stared wide-eyed at this strange, wraithlike apparition with long orange hair fading to blue at the tips.

“Come inside!” Sojiro shouted, somewhere in the distance. “You’re letting in the bugs!”

“I’ve gotta come over and see Mona before we go back,” Futaba said, ushering them all in. “He’s doing okay, right? Hanging in there?”

“Why do you ask?” Maya piped up.

Everyone looked at her. Futaba hesitated.

“Uh,” she said. “He’s just…getting kind of old.”

Maya rounded on Ren. “How old is he?”

“I don’t remember,” Ren replied easily. “Futaba, this is Maya, and that’s Sai. Maya, Futaba.”

“You really do look like Akechi,” Futaba said, leaning in to examine her. Maya leaned away, scowling. “Oh man. _Just_ like Akechi.”

“Hey,” Sojiro said, poking his head out of the kitchen. “Let them come in and sit down, Futaba. Come on.”

“Right! Sorry! Follow me!”

“I figured we’d eat in here,” Sojiro said as they filed in, motioning toward the table. “Chabudai’s too small for all of us.”

“Maya, Sai,” Futaba said, propping her elbow on Sojiro’s shoulder, “this is my dad, Sojiro Sakura. Call him Sojiro. And that—” She pointed at Yusuke, seated at the table, who waved, “is Yusuke, my guy. Call him Yusuke.”

“Your ‘guy?’ ” said Maya, suspiciously.

Futaba pulled a face. “Partner? Boyfriend?”

“Labels aren’t important,” Yusuke said. “It’s good to see you, Akechi, Ren. And nice to meet you, Maya.”

“You made curry,” Ren said, brightening at the sight of the pot on the stove.

“It smells like yours,” Maya said.

“Sojiro taught me how to make it. He’s still the master, though.”

Sojiro chuckled. “I don’t know about that. You’re doing some interesting stuff with it nowadays.”

Akechi settled Sai, quiet and watchful, into a booster seat at the table, and took the chair beside hers. “So, Yusuke,” he said. “How fares the art world?”

Yusuke heaved a fathomless sigh. “Terrible, as always.”

“Do tell.”

“Did you guys all go to high school together too?” Maya asked Futaba.

“Actually, no,” Futaba said.

“I met Yusuke at an art exhibit while I was living in Tokyo,” Ren said.

“Living in Tokyo with me,” Sojiro supplied.

“And I was living with Sojiro too,” Futaba added. “So Ren and I got to be friends.”

“ _Sojiro_?” Maya said. “I thought he was your dad.”

“He is. Um—he adopted me when I was thirteen.” Futaba adjusted her glasses. “After my mom died. I…got pretty used to calling him Sojiro, so…”

Maya deflated. “Oh.”

“Food’s ready,” Sojiro announced, peering into the pot. “Let’s eat.”

***

[CHATLOG. Ann to Akechi, 5/16/XX, 5:16PM]

_On our way!_

_Scratch that, haven’t left yet_

_Sorry, Uta needed a change of clothes. NOW we’re on our way!_

***

“Hiiii!” Ann shouted as soon as Akechi opened the door, skipping forward to hug him. “It’s so good to see you! Look at your hair! It’s getting so long!”

Akechi ran his hand through it. “I haven’t had time to cut it.”

“It looks great!”

“Yeah, it does,” Ryuji said, grinning. “You’re rockin’ it.”

“Where are Maya and Sai?” Mei demanded, putting her hands on her hips.

“Yeah!” Suzume said, mimicking her.

“Yeah,” said Uta, in her dad’s arms.

“In the living room. Come in.”

The air was fragrant with simmering ramen, rice, and nori. The first one to greet the guests as they stepped into the living room was Morgana, perched on top of the cat tower. Sai, halfway through climbing up after him, stiffened, staring at Ann, Ryuji, and the girls. Akechi gently peeled her off the tower and set her on her feet.

“Awww,” Ann breathed. “Look at you!”

“You’re so _cute_ ,” Ryuji said, crouching down. His eyes were gooey. “Hey, Ann—let’s have another one.”

“You _have_ other ones,” Ann countered, lightly smacking the back of his head. “Hi, Sai-chan! I’m Ann!”

“And this is Mei,” Ryuji said, indicating the five-year-old; “and Suzume,” the three-year-old, “and Uta,” the two-year-old clustered around him.

“Can you say hello?” Akechi prompted.

“’lo,” Sai mumbled.

Ann clutched her chest; Ryuji all but burst into tears.

“That’s my mom, and that’s my dad,” Mei said, jerking her thumb at her parents. “Suzume and Uta are my sisters. You want me to get Morgana down for you?”

Sai blinked, and nodded. Mei reached up, hooked her arms under Morgana’s front legs, and pulled.

“No no _no no no_ ,” Morgana squawked, claws audibly popping as he was wrenched free.

“Hey guys,” said Ren, emerging from the kitchen long enough to give Ann and Ryuji a hug.

“Hey!” Ann said, squeezing him tight. “Welcome to parenthood!”

“Lookin’ good, man,” Ryuji added, clapping him on the shoulder. “Must be nice to skip the baby stage. Where’s Maya?”

“Helping with dinner,” Ren said. “How’re we looking, Maya?”

She closed the lid on the rice and turned around. “Almost done.”

Ann gasped. Ryuji whistled. “Holy shit,” he said. “Akechi…are you sure she’s not related to you?”

“ _Ryuji_ ,” Ann hissed.

Maya bristled. “I don’t know why people keep saying that,” she said, flinging down her potholder. “We don’t look that much alike.”

“And plenty of people look like me,” Akechi agreed. “Ken Amada, for instance. No relation.”

“That you know of,” Ryuji said.

“I’m sorry, Maya,” Ann said, kicking her husband’s ankle. “I know it’s frustrating to have everybody gawking at you all the time. I’m Ann. This is Ryuji.”

“Hi,” Maya muttered. “Another round of friends.”

Ryuji beamed. “There’s more where we came from,” he said. “Your dads are popular guys.”

Maya twitched. Ren said, “Let’s get the bowls ready.”

“They’re _killing_ me,” Morgana announced, muffled by the giggles of four girls. Akechi reached past them, retrieved him, and gave him a ten second head start before he let the horde descend. Morgana didn’t get far.

“So what’s your story?” Maya asked, passing Ren a stack of bowls. “Did Ren meet you at a jazz club, or something?”

“Naw,” Ryuji said. “Akechi likes jazz, though. D’you guys still go to that club?”

“Not recently,” said Akechi. “For obvious reasons. Ladies, please don’t pull on his ears…”

“We met Ren when he transferred to Shujin,” Ann said, lifting the lid on the ramen and inhaling the aroma. “Ahh. Heaven.”

“Why did you transfer, anyway?” Maya asked Ren.

Ren paused, but Ryuji said, “He got in trouble for trying to help somebody out. He got sued, and everything. Can you believe that?”

Maya’s eyebrows rose so far they disappeared into her hair. “ _Sued_?”

“Ryuji,” said Ann, warningly.

“It’s okay,” Ren said, but he wouldn’t meet Maya’s eye as he portioned the rice. “There was a man harassing a woman on the street. I tried to stop him, and he fell down and hit his head. He claimed I attacked him.”

Akechi rescued Morgana again, again tried to give him a head start. For all his complaining, the cat didn’t seem to want to escape.

“And the cops believed him?” Maya demanded.

“Yes. I was put on probation. My parents sent me to Tokyo to give things time to cool off.” He straightened up, pushed his hair out of his eyes. “I think we’re just about ready.”

“Cool off, hah,” Ryuji said, crossing his arms. “First thing he did once he got to Shujin was take down the worst teacher in the school.”

Maya’s jaw dropped. “Take down—?”

“Ry- _u_ -ji,” Ann said.

Ryuji blinked, caught himself. “Ah…we don’t gotta talk about that.”

Akechi glanced at Ren. He was, apparently, busy arranging bowls and chopsticks on a tray to take to the chabudai. But his shoulders were hunched. Just slightly.

“But I want to know,” Maya said.

“Naaaah,” Ryuji said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t think—”

“Akechi,” Ren said, holding out a bowl. “For Morgana.”

Akechi accepted the bowl, set it on the cat tower, and picked Morgana up. “Sit down, girls. Let’s eat.”

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” Maya insisted, following Ren and Ann toward the chabudai. “What did the teacher do that was so bad?”

Ren set down the tray, arranged the bowls of rice and ramen at each place. Ryuji, now thoroughly uncomfortable, helped Ann distribute their children’s chopsticks. “Sorry,” he said, “I shouldn’t’a brought it up.”

“But—”

“Look.” Ryuji settled onto a zabuton next to Ann. “The details ain’t important.”

Akechi took the now-empty tray and went to put it away. Ren knelt beside Sai to help her with her chopsticks.

“All I’ll say is,” Ryuji continued, “your dad—”

“He’s not,” Maya spat, “my dad.”

There was a ringing silence. Akechi set the tray on the counter with a _clack_.

“Maya,” he began, but Ren caught his eye and shook his head.

“Uh,” Ryuji sputtered. He looked at Ann, who stared back at him, half stricken, half accusing. “Right. Sorry. Uh…Ren…he can just tell when people need help, and he’s not afraid to get involved. That’s all.”

Maya scowled at her food.

“Can we eat now?” Suzume asked after a moment, apparently oblivious.

“Yes,” Akechi said, sitting down. “Let’s eat.”

***

[CHATLOG. Sumire to Ren, 5/21/XX, 8:41PM]

 **Sumire** I’m so sorry to cancel on such short notice!

 **Ren** It’s all right.

 **Sumire** It’s not!  
 **Sumire** It’s extremely rude. And I’ve been so looking forward to meeting the girls!  
 **Sumire** I will absolutely, positively be at Akechi’s birthday celebration. Nothing could keep me away!

 **Ren** He’ll appreciate that.  
 **Ren** I actually think it’s a good idea to give them a break.  
 **Ren** I think they got overwhelmed, meeting everyone so quickly.

 **Sumire** That makes sense. I hope this gives them a chance to wind down.  
 **Sumire** I’m really sorry, Ren.

 **Ren** It’s really okay. Try not to beat yourself up.

***

Sumaru City had seen better days, Naoto thought.

At least, its outlying neighborhoods had. Close to the port, it was still a sparkling paragon of wealth and ingenuity, filled with towering buildings, crowded streets, and row upon row of beautiful, ancient shops. But only a few miles away, close to Mount Iwato in Renge-dai, most of the stores were boarded up, and the rest had bars on the windows. Trash blew freely across the streets, empty of both cars and people. Broken windows gaped like jagged-toothed mouths from abandoned houses and apartment buildings.

“It’s so quiet,” said Akihiko, in the driver’s seat. “Perfect place for a murder.”

“Especially one like this,” Naoto agreed. They unlocked the tablet resting in their lap and opened the file of photos Chie had sent. Blood smeared on the floor, splattered on the wall… “I imagine there was quite a bit of noise.”

Akihiko grunted agreement, and sat up straighter. “There’s Chie.”

Chie was standing on the curb outside an old brick building. The doorway behind her was crossed with police tape, CAUTION CAUTION CAUTION. She’d shaved her head again and her hair was just starting to grow back, fuzzy across her scalp. Muscles rivaling Akihiko’s rippled in her bicep as she lifted her arm to wave.

“Hey guys,” she said, once Akihiko rolled down the window. “You can park here.”

They got out of the car. It was exactly as quiet as Naoto had expected, almost eerily so. Even in the saddest cities, you usually heard slamming doors, barking dogs, or distant arguments. Here, there was nothing. Even wind.

“Did you look at the stuff I sent you?” Chie asked, leading them inside.

“Yeah,” Akihiko replied. He skipped over a hunk of plywood lying in the hallway. “But I dunno, Chie—they seem pretty different to me.”

Two cases, two locations, two MOs. In Mikage-cho, about six weeks ago, a man had been found dead in his house. His name was Hidehiko Uesugi. He’d been a TV personality once, now retired, known around the neighborhood mostly for hanging out on his front porch and cracking jokes at passersby. He’d been well-liked, so when his neighbors hadn’t seen him for a couple of days, they went looking.

They’d found him in the bathroom. He’d been struck once in the head, which had apparently incapacitated him long enough for his assailant to tie him to the radiator with his hands behind his back. His shirt had been removed, and his neck, chest, back, and upper arms were covered in dozens of cuts. Bloodless cuts. According to the coroner, there was so little blood left in his body he might as well have been strung up like a hog.

By contrast, in this case, there was quite a lot of blood. It had stained the concrete floor brown and black, sucking at Naoto’s shoes as they trailed behind Chie and Akihiko. It had been a couple of days since this body was discovered, even more days than that since the killing had occurred; the building manager had come calling because somebody complained about a smell. And it did smell. It smelled like a charnel house.

“Hey!” Chie barked. “I told you to buzz off!”

Naoto looked up. A man in a long brown trenchcoat, peering at a streak of blood on one wall, jumped and spun around. His eyes flashed. “You brought these two knuckleheads in on this?”

“Knuckleheads?” Chie countered. “The only knuckleheads I know are you guys, sneaking around in here even though I told you not to! You’re _off this case_ , Watase. Criminal Affairs is taking over. Go home.”

“You don’t understand,” Watase snarled, stepping toward her. “He was one of ours. You can’t—”

Chie squared up, shoulders straining against the fabric of her blazer. “I can.”

Watase clenched and unclenched his fists, spat sideways, stalked out of the room.

“Sorry about that,” Chie said, glaring after him. “This vic was a detective, so…it’s pretty tense.”

“No problem,” Akihiko said.

“Right.” Chie took her glasses out of her pocket. “Let’s dive in.”

Naoto handed Akihiko the tablet, knowing he preferred it, and put on their own glasses. After a moment, the viewscreen flickered, and the scene changed. The blood coating the floor turned redder, fresher, though not by much. A body, bound to a pipe near the far wall, phased into view. Holding the tablet up, Akihiko moved to the center of the room and pivoted slowly, watching the landscape shift and morph.

“This is Katsuya Suou,” Chie said, approaching the body. “He would’ve been 60 this year. Would’ve retired, too, probably.”

He was strong for his age, his arms corded with muscle where they’d been twisted behind him and handcuffed to the pipe. He had slumped forward in death, his sandy gray hair obscuring his face; a pair of broken red sunglasses lay in his lap, flecked with blood.

Wishing all over again that they could touch things in augmented reality, Naoto crouched to examine the cuts that had ended Suou’s life. Most of them were clean, precise. Suou hadn’t struggled. The coroner hadn’t found any drugs in his system, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been sedated somehow. One slash traced his right jawbone; another coiled around his arm, looping from his shoulder all the way to his wrist. Still another ran from the jut of his collarbone along his chest to his belly button. His pants were soaked with blood, stiff and stuck to his legs; it had pooled beneath him. But there wasn’t as much as there should have been.

The killer had tried to create matching cuts on Suou’s other side, but had slipped, or Suou had moved, because the gash coursing along his left jawbone angled suddenly, sharply downward, struck his jugular, explained the spray of blood across the wall. That was what had killed him: shock and blood loss.

“The markings on the floor,” Akihiko said. “Were they this messed up when the cops got here?”

“Yep,” Chie said. “Look at the strokes. See how fluffy they are? Whoever did this was using a paintbrush. We found some of the bristles. They were _painting_ the ground with Suou’s blood. When he finally died, they smudged it all together, probably so we wouldn’t be able to tell what they’d painted.”

It was, indeed, an indecipherable mess. Obviously not natural—blood didn’t flow like that on its own—but not clear, either.

“And there was no evidence left behind,” Naoto muttered.

“Nothing,” Chie confirmed. “No fibers, no hair, no footprints, no fingerprints. Just the body, the blood, and a couple of bristles. I mean, look at this place! How could anybody do something like this and vanish into thin air?”

“It was the same at Uesugi’s apartment,” Naoto said. “No sign of a struggle, nothing left behind.”

“Right. And the coroner in that case said the same thing about the cuts: they’re so fine, so clean, that even a _scalpel_ couldn’t have made them.”

“You think it was the same weapon?” Akihiko asked, lowering the tablet.

“Yup.” Chie put her hands on her hips, took a deep breath. “That’s why I called you guys. I think we’re dealing with something, you know…Midnight Channel-y. Dark Hour-y. Metaverse-y.”

“A knife that’s sharper than anything in existence does seem thematically appropriate,” Naoto murmured.

“A knife that can absorb blood,” Akihiko said. At their puzzled looks, he added, “Think about it. This guy was careful not to kill Suou too quickly, so they could squeeze as much blood as possible out of him. But even then, there should be more here. And there was no blood at the Uesugi scene, even though he was covered in cuts. Where’d it all go?”

“Into the knife,” Chie said, turning grey.

“The question now,” Naoto said, “apart from _who_ , is _why_. Why these two? What’s the connection?”

“There isn’t one,” Chie said. “At least, it isn’t obvious. They weren’t friends. Uesugi spent his whole life in Mikage-cho, and Suou in Sumaru. As far as we know, they never met.”

Naoto took off their glasses, erasing Suou’s corpse from their vision, if not from their memory.

“We’ll take the case,” they said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> acab. none of the characters in this chapter are cops, except Watase. Chie is an investigator with the Criminal Affairs Bureau.
> 
> also I’m writing Naoto as genderfluid. Their pronouns are they/them here, but they’ll be he/him and she/her at various other times


	4. Ribs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Little girl, don't let them sell you any armor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uoaqvA-y6M) _
> 
> [_All your ribs are still your own_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4uoaqvA-y6M)

Getting up early was Ren’s least favorite thing to do, but today was a rare exception. When his alarm went off at 5AM, the sun was only beginning to crest the horizon. He rolled over, silenced his phone, and rolled back to swing his arm across Akechi’s stomach.

“Akechi,” he said, resting his chin on Akechi’s chest. “Hey. Akechi.”

Akechi’s brow furrowed. “What.”

“Happy birthday.”

Akechi inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth. “I told you. I’m not having those anymore.”

“Thirty-five,” Ren murmured, walking his fingers lightly up Akechi’s abdomen. “Getting up there.”

“I’m not thirty-five. I’ve stopped aging.”

“Technically you’re thirty-five and two days. I gave you a grace period.”

Akechi quirked one eye open. “I’d like to extend that, please. Forever.” Ren smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth. Akechi wrinkled his nose. “Your breath smells.”

“So does yours.” He trailed more kisses along Akechi’s jaw, behind his ear. “I won’t hold it against you, though. As long as you brush your teeth before the party.”

Akechi groaned. “Are we still doing that?”

“Yep. Eeeeverybody’s gonna be there.” Ren snuggled closer, hooking one leg over Akechi’s hips. “Sumire, and Ann, and Naoto…”

“Noise, noise, and more noise,” Akechi grumbled. “I’d prefer a quiet day at home.”

“You got one already. On Thursday.”

“I’m filing a formal petition for another.”

“Petition denied.” Ren slipped his hand beneath Akechi’s head, kissed him on the mouth. “Come on. Get up.”

“Surely, if it’s my birthday, I can sleep in.”

“Not if you want to fuck me, you can’t.”

 _That_ woke him up. Ren leaned up on his elbows, slid his knee between Akechi’s thighs, smirked when Akechi’s breath caught.

“How long’s it been?” he mused, brushing Akechi’s hair back from his face. “Last time was before we brought the girls home, right? Oh!” Ren’s smirk widened into a grin. “ _Somebody’s_ happy to see me.”

“Feel you, more like,” Akechi growled, gripping Ren’s forearms.

“If we start now, we should have more than enough time to get it out of your system.” He expertly dodged Akechi’s attempt to capture his mouth. “How about in the shower? Kill two birds with one—” Ren pressed his knee forward, and Akechi groaned—“stone?”

Akechi lunged upward again, and this time Ren let him, licking into his mouth with relish. Akechi dug his nails into Ren’s waist, twisting his hips, rough and desperate after almost three months out of practice. Ren adjusted obligingly, purring at the familiar, delicious friction, at the heat skating up his spine.

And then he stopped, lifted himself up and off, dragged his teeth across Akechi’s lower lip as he swung out of the bed.

“Come here,” he said, and Akechi did.

***

When they were finished (and Ren, Akechi noted with satisfaction, was walking slightly bow-legged), Ren combed and cut Akechi’s hair. In almost twenty years, he hadn’t changed his hairstyle much. He still preferred it chin-length, tapering to shoulder-length in the back, framing his face; but he’d experimented with his forelock, sometimes sweeping it to one side, sometimes letting it dangle between his eyes. Today was a sweep day.

“All right,” Ren said, checking his phone. “I’d better get Sai up. You go back to bed.”

Akechi raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

“Really.” Ren tilted Akechi’s chin up, kissed him briefly. “I’ll call you when breakfast’s ready.”

And he bundled Akechi into a bathrobe and sent him back to bed.

Akechi awoke, warm and comfortable, to the rich smell of fried eggs, toast, and bacon. A Western-style breakfast, just short of pancakes. Stretching, he rose, opened the closet, considered. In the end he chose a pair of khakis, a light blue dress shirt, and red socks. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, the way he knew Ren liked, and left his collar unbuttoned.

Then he followed his nose. In the living room, Sai toddled back and forth between the couch and her toybox, arranging stuffed animals in a mountain around Morgana, whose tail twitched irritably.

“Good morning, Sai,” Akechi said.

“Baba!” she exclaimed, rushing toward him.

Akechi scooped her up, hugged her, let her press a damp kiss to his cheek. He would never, as long as he lived, get tired of this.

“Happy bir’day,” Sai said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Es’ra kiss!”

And she kissed him again with a loud, theatrical _mwah_. Akechi bumped his forehead against hers.

“Thank you, Sai-chan,” he said. “What are you doing to Morgana?”

“B’aying,” she said, as if that explained it, and squirmed until he let her down.

“Morning, Morgana.”

“Morning,” Morgana grumbled. “Happy birthday.”

Akechi joined Maya at the kitchen table. “Good morning,” he started to say, and then Ren breezed past, depositing a cup of coffee on the way. Akechi picked it up, inhaled the aroma. “Mm. What blend is this?”

“Something new,” Ren said, smiling over his shoulder.

Akechi tasted it. It was…almost like chocolate, dark and bittersweet, clinging thickly to the inside of his mouth. It tasted like something fleeting, like joy right at the edge of loss. Like the in-between. Akechi closed his eyes, tilted his head, touched his lips. As soon as the flavor started to fade, too soon, he took another sip. He wanted to savor it. Wanted it to linger.

“Good?” Ren asked.

“You are a marvel.” Akechi opened his eyes, turned to Maya. “I’m sorry, Maya. Good morning.”

“Morning,” Maya said, avoiding his gaze. She fidgeted in her seat, her hands in her lap.

“Something wrong?”

She glanced at him, away, fidgeted some more. Then, all at once, she thrust a haphazardly wrapped rectangle across the table.

“Happy birthday,” she said fiercely, as if daring him to mock her.

Akechi blinked, set down his cup. “You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Maya countered, blushing.

“Well.” Akechi smiled. “Thank you.”

Maya flailed. “Open it!”

He did.

It was a hardcover book, possibly intended for a coffee table, definitely meant for display. The words “Flowers of the World” were embossed in gold on the cover against a backdrop of brilliant white lilies. Akechi set the book down, opened it. It was full of huge, glossy photographs of various plants in full bloom, arranged by color: white, goldenrod, orange, scarlet, lavender, violet, and on and on. Listed beside each picture was information about the flower depicted, including recommended planting zones, the best growing season, the ideal soil.

Ren’s voice broke Akechi out of his reverie. “Usually, when he goes quiet like that, it means he likes it.”

“I do like it,” Akechi said, sitting up straight. “I love it.”

Maya lit up like a new star. “Really?”

“It’s beautiful,” he said, turning another page. “And so informative! We’ll have to look through it and decide what we want to plant. There’s still time this summer, and fall…”

Maya sprang from her chair and leaned against him to flip through the book. “I had some ideas,” she said. “Like—this one, I think would be nice by the iris—”

Akechi slipped his arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on top of her head. She let him. He caught Ren’s eye, and returned his smile.

***

Inokashira Park, Yu knew, was normally a peaceful, secluded spot, a welcome escape from the hustle and bustle of Tokyo proper. Not so today. Today, it was packed full of Persona-users and their children and spouses. Their combined voices and laughter raised a din that echoed across the water and scared away every bird and squirrel for a half-mile.

Yu loved it. He sat on one of the benches near the water, under the shade of a sprawling tree, and watched the younger set—Mei, Suzume, Uta, Sai, and Hayato—play. Teddie was leading them in an incomprehensible game. Every few minutes, he’d cry, “All right, cadets! Moooooooove out!” And they’d all proceed to chase Koro-go, Koromaru’s great-great-great-great-grandson, who had retained his ancestor’s curly tail and red eyes but was about three times his size, and dark brown. Koro-go, implicitly understanding the point, always let himself be captured immediately, flopping onto his side and panting as the toddlers and Teddie threw themselves on top of him.

Mitsuru and Akihiko’s boys, Shinji and Take-kun, huddled near the water with Kano, no doubt plotting world domination. Yu kept only a cursory eye on them: they were old enough to fend for themselves, and besides, their parents were probably watching them like hawks.

A glance confirmed it. Mitsuru, sitting at one of the picnic tables, was _apparently_ deep in conversation with Fuuka, Haru, Chidori, Yusuke, and Makoto Niijima, but _actually_ casting her kids appraising looks out of the corner of her eye. Kanji, who had somehow gotten caught up in Rise, Ann, Yukari, Morgana, and Futaba’s group, kept looking around too, his expression clearing as soon as he confirmed that his son hadn’t gotten himself in trouble (yet).

Naoto and Akihiko were distracted, though. They, along with Chie, were talking to Akechi, who stood with one hand resting in the crook of his opposite elbow, his fingers curled thoughtfully beneath his chin. Ren, sitting nearby with Sumire, was frowning faintly, listening in; and as Yu watched, Makoto Yuki and Aigis drifted over too. It was turning into an impromptu Wild Card meeting. Yu was probably going to have to join them.

He knew what they were talking about. Naoto had filled him in on the strangeness she’d discovered and promised to keep him informed. Akihiko had likely done the same thing for Makoto. Yu should have told Ren and Akechi too, but they weren’t supposed to have to worry about things like that right now. Hayato had been a baby when Nanako and Ken brought him home, but even then, the adoption process hadn’t exactly been smooth. Yu imagined that dealing with older kids, especially ones like Maya, who’d been through so much, was even rougher.

Ann saved Yu from having to get up. “Hey!” she snapped, leaping to her feet, marching toward Akechi. “No more shop talk! This is a party!”

Grabbing Akechi’s arm, she hauled him away. “Come on! We’re gonna rent a boat!”

Mitsuru beckoned Akihiko over. Naoto and Chie offered sheepish apologies to Ren, who smiled and waved them off. Yu relaxed.

Yukiko, sitting beside him on the bench, said over her shoulder, “Maya-chan, what are you reading?”

Maya looked up. She was huddled against the tree behind them, knees drawn up to her chest, clutching a slim paperback book. “It’s called _Dogstar_.”

Nanako, sitting on Yu’s other side, turned to Maya too. “That sounds interesting. What’s it about?”

“It’s about a god who gets framed for murder, and as punishment, he has to spend time on Earth as a dog.”

“Looks like you’re halfway through already,” Ken remarked, putting his arm around Nanako. “You must really like it.”

“I’m actually rereading it,” she said, scooching a little closer to the tree. “Akechi and I read it once already. The movie’s coming out soon, so I want to make sure I remember everything.”

“All right, cadets!” Teddie crowed. “Mooooooooove out!”

“You could go and talk to Kano, Shinji, and Take-kun, if you wanted,” Yukiko told Maya. “I’m sure they’d like to get to know you.”

Maya eyed Sai, running full-tilt after the other kids. “That’s okay. I like reading.”

“Heeeey!” Junpei called. “Take-kun! Shinji! Kano! We’re gonna play ball! You in?”

“Yeah!” Kano exclaimed, barreling toward him.

“Maya! You want to play too?” Ryuji asked, tossing a ball into the air.

“No thank you,” she replied, glancing again at her sister.

“Suit yourself!”

“Go easy on Yosuke, guys,” Yu said, for the simple pleasure of hearing Yosuke squawk.

“I don’t need anybody to go easy on me! I’m fine!”

Yukiko followed Maya’s gaze, and smiled. “We can keep an eye on Sai for you, you know.”

Maya frowned, and turned back to her book. “It’s okay.”

“You really care about her, hm?”

“No,” Maya said. “Actually, most days I wish she didn’t exist.”

Yu felt a blow at his throat. Yukiko, Nanako, and Ken stared at Maya.

“What do you mean?” Nanako asked, carefully.

“If she’d never been born,” Maya said, shrugging, “Mom wouldn’t be dead. I’d rather have Mom than her.”

Yukiko gasped. Maya seemed to realize what she’d said, _out loud_ , and shot to her feet.

“I mean,” she said, backing away. “I mean—I don’t—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Ken said quickly. “It must’ve been hard, right? It’s hard. Losing your mom. I know—”

“And siblings fight all the time,” Nanako put in. She elbowed Yu. “Like us, Big Bro, we—remember how I used to annoy you?”

No, Yu thought, but said, “Constantly.”

“I think I’ll go play ball after all,” Maya said, spinning around. “Excuse me.”

Yu didn’t watch her go. The weight of the others’ eyes on her would be enough.

***

Kano, Shinji, and Take (short for Takeharu) were all too happy to welcome Maya to their team. The Plan, they informed her, was to trounce the adults, salt the earth. How would they do that? Details. Meaningless details. She needed to focus on one thing, and one thing only: get the ball, by any means necessary. 

The game was, basically, keep-away. If you had the ball, and someone from the opposite team tagged you, they got to take it. If you dropped the ball, the other team got to take it. If you threw the ball, and it was intercepted; if you missed a catch; etc, etc. There were no points, and technically nobody could win. Just get the ball.

Maya was good at it. She was really good at it. She was fast and nimble, not so great at catching long-distance, but excellent at grabbing from one of her teammates and disappearing before their opponents realized what had happened. Ryuji or Junpei or Yosuke would descend on Kano or Shinji or Take, and they’d hold up their empty hands, grinning, and the adults would spin around yelling, “ _Maya_!” at her flying hair and thundering feet. But they never caught her. Her lungs burned and her legs tingled, but they never caught her before she handed the ball to somebody else and swung around to start the whole sequence over again.

When they finally called it quits, Maya’s team was in possession, which made them the winners, as far as they were concerned. “Yes!” Kano bellowed, throwing both fists in the air. Take high-fived Maya, and Shinji threw his arm around her neck and noogied her. “Maya comin’ in clutch!” he shouted, and she beamed, light and laughing and breathless.

“Good game,” Junpei said, pushing his damp hair off his forehead.

“Good game,” Ryuji echoed gloomily.

“Mnglrmf,” said Yosuke, facedown on the ground.

The sun was going down, and the party was over: the rest of the adults milled around, exchanging hugs and slaps on the back. Maya looked instinctively for Sai, relaxed: she was asleep with her head on Akechi’s shoulder.

“Kano!” Naoto called. “Time to go!”

“Man,” Kano groaned. “I don’t wanna go back. Inaba’s so boring...”

“At least you’ve only got five years left,” Take said. “I’ve got seven.”

“Iwatodai’s not so bad, though! At least it’s a city. Inaba’s all grass and shit.”

“Literal shit?” Maya asked.

They all laughed. Maya hadn’t realized she could smile this big.

“Hey,” Shinji said. “You play Craft-Z?”

“Uh-uh. What’s that?”

“It’s really cool,” Take exclaimed. “You know Minecraft?”

“Sure,” Maya lied.

“It was this old game,” Shinji said, seeing right through her. “You could dig and find, like, ore, and make stuff out of it. Armor and things like that. And you could build houses, and farms—anyway, Craft-Z is like that, but better.”

“You should join our server,” Kano said. “I’ll invite you. What’s your email?”

Maya told him. He tapped it into his phone. “Got it.”

“Shinji-kun,” said Mitsuru, padding over to them. “Take-kun. Ready to go?”

“Uh-huh,” Shinji said. “It was nice to meet you, Maya.”

“Yeah!” Take chirped. “See you later!”

“Bye,” Maya said.

“ _Ka_ -no,” Kanji shouted. Kano rolled his eyes and slouched off.

Still basking in the afterglow (and starting to feel kind of sticky and gross from all the running around), Maya turned to look for Akechi and Ren, and froze.

Yukiko had drawn Ren off to one side and was leaning in close, talking urgently. He listened with his head tilted, his eyebrows raised. Maya could imagine what Yukiko was saying: _I know it’s not my business, but I thought I should tell you_...

Ren smiled, tight-lipped as always, and shook his head. Then he caught Maya staring, and his face softened. Yukiko followed his gaze, covered her mouth.

Maya spun on her heel, retrieved her book, and shouldered through the crowd until she reached Akechi and her sister.

“Hello,” Akechi said. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes,” she said. Her mouth was sour.

***

Maya almost thought she’d gotten away without a lecture. She was wrong.

She was sitting on her bed with her tablet, snug and comfy in her pajamas, setting up her Craft-Z account. Tucking her wet hair behind her ears, she pushed _Create_! and settled back against the headboard to wait. Morgana, lying beside her, sighed in his sleep and curled into a tighter ball. She reached over to scritch his head.

Then came the knock: _tap-tap_ , short and light. Ren’s knock. Maya’s heart leapt into her throat.

“What?” she asked.

“Can I come in?”

She considered saying no. She’d never tried it before. She’d never really had a reason to; they didn’t often ask to come into her room, and when they did it was usually to deliver laundry or ask a question and then retreat. Serious conversations typically happened in the living room. (If anything about their lives could be considered typical; she’d only been here a couple of months, after all.)

Maya’s throat was dry as she set aside her tablet and stood up. “Yeah.”

Ren came in, but not far: he stood framed in the doorway, one hand in his pocket and the other on the doorknob. “Hey,” he said. “Could you come out here for a second?”

Aha. Lecture time. Maya crossed her arms. “Why?”

Ren leaned his head to one side. His expression was mild, unreadable. “We want to talk to you about what happened today.”

“About what Yukiko said. I saw you talking to her,” she added, sharply. 

The corners of Ren’s mouth twitched. Rage swooped like a hawk through Maya’s gut. 

“I know you did,” Ren said. 

“I don’t want to come out. Whatever you have to say, you can say right here.”

Ren blinked, shrugged. “Okay.” He leaned into the hallway, presumably to call Akechi, and Maya’s thin thread of patience snapped.

“Just get it over with,” she spat, planting her feet, dropping her fists to her sides.

“Get what over with?”

“The lecture! I’ve heard it all before. She’s your sister, you should be grateful, she’s all you have left of your mom—”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Yes you were. That’s what everybody says. That’s what—”

“I was going to ask you,” he interrupted, so gently that her skin crawled, “if you’ve told Hinata-chan how you feel.”

He might as well have punched her. Maya goggled at him, brain whirring into panicked overdrive. Why was he asking? What was the right answer? Was he going to make her stop seeing Hinata if he didn’t like what she said?

“Yes,” she replied at last, almost a squeak. “I have.”

Ren nodded. “Good. That’s good. And you—like her? You feel comfortable talking to her about these things?”

A flush crept up Maya’s neck, into her ears. “What are you—yes? Yes, I like Hinata. I—why do you want to know?”

“I just want to make sure,” Ren said. He released the doorknob, put that hand in his pocket too. “The whole point of therapy is having someone you feel safe talking to. I’m glad Hinata-chan makes you feel safe. If that changes, let us know and we’ll find someone different.”

Something in Maya’s chest exploded.

 _Name your emotions_ , Hinata was always saying. _When you think about this, what do you feel? Anger? Sadness? Happiness?_

She couldn’t have begun to describe what flooded through her, icy hot, in that moment. It was molten; it scorched her nerves, her skin; it pressed like a vise on her bones, crushed her lungs and closed her throat. She wanted to scream. She wanted to break something. She wanted to launch herself at Ren and hit him, kick him, anything to make him stop looking at her like that. He was always like this, watchful and removed. She hated it. She hated that she couldn’t read him when she could read everybody else, when every other adult in her life was and had been an open book. Why should he be different? What made him so special?

“What’s wrong with you?” Maya breathed.

Ren blinked.

“Why are you like this?” she said, voice rising. “Didn’t she tell you what I said?”

“Sai’s sleeping,” he reminded her.

“I don’t care!” Maya exclaimed, flinging out her arms. “Don’t you get it? I don’t care that Sai’s sleeping! I don’t care about her at all!”

Something in his eyes flickered, a flag, a tell: _That’s not true._

“What, you think I’m lying?” she snarled, advancing on him, not sure what would happen if she actually reached him and stopping before she had to find out. “You think I’m just being dramatic? That deep down I looooove her, and someday we’ll be best friends?”

“I don’t want to tell you how you feel.”

“I know how I feel! I hate her. I wish she’d never been born. I wish I’d let her die, all those times I had the chance. If she was gone, Mom might have gotten better; she might have— _stop looking at me like that_.”

Ren took a long, deep, careful breath. “Maya—”

“Why don’t you believe me?” she demanded.

“I do believe you.”

“No you don’t! If you did,” Maya said, her voice catching, “you’d tell me I’m—horrible, and disgusting, and—”

Ren shook his head. “No.”

“Yes! And you’d be right. I shouldn’t—I—”

“There’s no should or shouldn’t,” Ren said, a favorite phrase of Hinata’s, and Maya felt a fresh rush of loathing. “All of this is complicated.”

“It’s not! It’s so simple! You’re not listening. You never listen. You don’t care, you don’t care about anything, it all just rolls off you—”

Ren coughed a laugh. “That’s not true.”

“Then how can you be like this?” She swept her hand up and down, indicating his searching eyes and sloping shoulders and hips canted to one side. “How can you stand there and look at me like it doesn’t matter that I—that I—”

“It does matter. But it’s _complicated_. I don’t want to discount your feelings—”

“What do you think is happening, then? It’s complicated. Complicated with what? What else is there?”

Ren looked away, out into the hall, shook his head again.

“Tell me,” Maya snapped, stomping her foot and immediately feeling stupid. “Tell me!”

Ren rolled his shoulders, shifted his weight.

“However you felt,” he said finally, and paused. “However you _feel_...Sai trusts you. When you’re around, she talks and she plays and she acts like she’s safe. Like you make her feel safe.” Maya gulped, choked on the lump in her throat. “Because you protected her, all that time.”

“I don’t want to protect her anymore,” Maya whimpered. “I don’t—”

“You don’t have to,” Ren said. “That’s what Akechi and I are for. You don’t have to love your sister, Maya, or even like her. You just have to be kind and gentle with her. That’s it. We’ll do the rest.”

Maya started to cry. Ren stepped forward, started to reach for her, but she recoiled. “Don’t touch me,” she hiccupped. “I hate you.”

Ren sagged. He looked—here was something new—he looked sad. Deeply and truly sad. “Oh, Maya.”

She turned her back, raking her hands across her cheeks. Morgana coiled around her ankles, purring so hard that he vibrated. 

“Go away,” she said. “Shut the door.”

Ren hesitated, only a moment, and then obeyed. What else could he do?

In the hallway, he leaned on the door and closed his eyes. Akechi, propped against the wall, studied him. 

“Ren,” he began.

“Not here,” Ren muttered, straightening up. “She’ll hear us. Come on.”

Akechi followed him into their bedroom, closed the door. Ren sank down onto the edge of the bed, rested his elbows on his knees, dragged his hands through his hair.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Akechi said quietly.

“She means something,” Ren replied. “Just not…quite what she said.”

“It’ll get better. It’s already better.”

“I know.” His shoulders rose and fell as he breathed in, out. “That doesn’t make it any easier.”

“She can’t keep talking to you that way,” Akechi said. “She’s cruel to you, always to you. I don’t like it.”

“Because it reminds you of—”

“Because you don’t deserve it,” Akechi retorted. “You never deserved it.”

They were teetering precariously at the edge of something they’d never vocalized, something they probably shouldn’t have been talking about without a therapist present. They both knew what a monumental asshole Akechi had been when they’d met, and for a long time after. His trauma was a reason, not an excuse. Ren had forgiven him, but they’d never actually hashed it out, never addressed it. Not because they were afraid to, but because it hadn’t seemed necessary. But if Ren was hurting—if he was carrying it around—

“It’s not the same,” Ren murmured, lifting his head. “It’s not like it was with you.”

“No?”

“No. It’s similar, but it’s not the same. You never actually hated me. But Maya…sometimes I think—”

He broke off, looked away.

Akechi went to him, cupped his face in his hands, smoothed the tension from his jaw. “She doesn’t hate you,” he said, not quite forcing Ren to meet his gaze but giving him the option, if he wanted to. “She knows you love her, and it scares her. She doesn’t know what to do with it.”

Ren clasped Akechi’s wrists. “I wish _I_ knew what to do. I feel like it’s always one step forward, two steps back.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way.”

Ren sighed through his nose, and nodded. Akechi rested his forehead against Ren’s, dropped his hands to his shoulders.

“Whatever else happens, I want her to stop shouting at you all the time,” Akechi said. “We’ll tell her tomorrow. I’ll take point. It’s not acceptable.”

“Okay,” Ren said.

Akechi squeezed his shoulders. “It was a good birthday.”

Ren smiled. “Yeah?”

“Mm. The best yet, I think.”

“High praise.”

“Well deserved. You have a high bar to clear next year.”

Ren laughed. “I think I can manage it.”

Akechi kissed him, over and over, gentle pecks gradually deepening to his tongue in Ren’s mouth, his fingers curled around the back of Ren’s neck, his hips between Ren’s thighs. When Ren made a soft noise, low in his throat, Akechi pulled away.

“I’ll go make sure Maya’s all right,” he said, sliding his hand into Ren’s hair, pressing his nails into his scalp. “If you’re asleep when I get back, I’m waking you up.”

Ren laughed again, scooting backward, drawing one foot up onto the bed and letting his legs fall open. “I won’t be asleep.”

Akechi gave him his best, most threatening look, and slipped out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> discussion question: why is it that when maya acts exactly like akechi, it hurts ren's feelings more than akechi ever did?
> 
> there's no right answer, I just think it's interesting


	5. Where is Your Rider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, gore, references to suicide, persona 4 spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[See, your face wasn’t quite as I remember](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Noz360Clhgg) _
> 
> _[But I know that wicked shape to your smile](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Noz360Clhgg) _

They had another victim.

Her name was Lisa Silverman. She’d lived some 30 minutes outside of Sumaru City, and her house was a wreck. Lamps and tables were broken; potted plants were overturned; a long, singed gash coursed the length of the entryway. In the kitchen, there was blood on the edge of the counter—hers; she’d hit her head on it, or someone had hit her head on it for her—and of course blood all over the tiles, spread in obscene and unnatural smears by, yes, a paintbrush. Her fingernails were broken, her knuckles bruised, like she’d gotten in some solid hits and scratches before her assailant’s knife had found her throat.

But as before, there was no evidence of _who_ had done this. No skin under her nails, no blood on her clothes apart from her own; no hair, fibers, fingerprints. She’d fought a ghost. At least she’d roughed them up enough to spare herself the torture that had been inflicted on Uesugi and Suou. The coroner reckoned she’d died of shock and blood loss inflicted by the deep, savage slit across her neck, probably—hopefully—quick and relatively painless.

Her body was gone by the time Naoto, Chie, and Akihiko arrived, but AR once again recreated the scene. Silverman lay on her back in the middle of the kitchen, head slumped to one side, eyes closed. Blood had matted her long blonde hair and stained her turquoise shirt. All around her, more of it formed great swoops and swirls, smudged beyond recognition or understanding.

“Her husband found her,” said Chie. “He was traveling, and came back to...this.”

“What. The hell. Are we dealing with,” Akihiko said, flat, furious.

“Did she know Suou?” Naoto asked, crouching beside Silverman.

“Nope. Her husband says he doesn’t recognize the name. Her kids don’t either.”

“This guy hit Mikage-cho once, and then Sumaru twice,” Akihiko muttered. “Why?”

Chie saw Naoto peering at the fatal cut. “Coroner says it’s the same knife.”

“I thought as much.”

Naoto straightened up, scanned the floor, stepped out into the front hall. Reconstruct the scene. The front and back doors had been securely locked. None of the windows had been broken or forced. So this person had...teleported? inside. It sounded absurd, but it was literally not impossible. Teleported inside and surprised Silverman in this hallway. She’d thrown a lamp at them, but missed, peppering the ground with ceramic fragments. A dent in the wall here suggested someone had been thrown into it. They’d fallen against the huge jade plant, toppled it over; landed on this side table and broken it, shattering a second lamp and destroying a collection of aloe plants.

Then...what? Account for the gash in the wall. It was shallow, but long, and the edges of the wallpaper curled around it like they’d been burned. Nothing in reality could have done something like that. You’d almost have to be using a lightsaber, or...well, or a Physical skill. Call it what it was, face the possibility. You’d have to be using a Persona.

Now the fight had reached the kitchen doorway. The murderer had grabbed Silverman, shoved her through, slammed her head by accident or on purpose against the edge of the counter. She’d fallen. They’d killed her.

The killer should have been bleeding. They should have cut themselves on the lamps, or the pots, or the splintered wood. They should have left their gouged flesh under Silverman’s nails, their hair in her fist. The fact that they hadn’t was...unbelievable.

Call it what it was.

“Are we all in agreement that no one could have done this by ordinary means?” Naoto asked.

Chie grimaced. Akihiko rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

“The knife’s definitely not normal,” Chie agreed. “But...”

“Immobilizing Uesugi and Suou,” Naoto said, ticking off on her fingers. “Entering secure buildings without force. Removing all trace of their presence. It’s like magic.”

“It’s like a Persona,” Akihiko said. “Right?”

Naoto nodded.

“But who would give the power to somebody like this?” Akihiko muttered. Chie and Naoto exchanged a look. “And why?”

Naoto took off her glasses, and paused. Without the overlay of Silverman’s body, without the augmented reality brightening the color of the blood, she could make something out—a darker shadow—in the depths of the gore caking the tile. Carefully, she stepped sideways, tilting her head, squinting.

Almost illegible, but not quite, were two English words.

“ _Crawling chaos_ ,” she read.

“What?” said Akihiko.

“Look,” Naoto said. “They missed this. _Crawling chaos_. It means—slithering unrest, kind of.”

Chie whipped out her phone, tapped the phrase into it. She blanched. “Uh-oh.”

Akihiko groaned. “What’s _uh-oh_?”

“Second hit,” she said, showing them the screen. “Wikipedia.”

 _Nyarlathotep_. _Crawling Chaos; God of a Thousand Forms; Stalker among the Stars; Faceless God; Messenger of the Outer God_. _Nyarlathotep is a fictional character..._

But he wasn’t.

“Shit,” Naoto said.

“Fuck,” Akihiko said.

“Balls,” Chie confirmed.

***

[CHATLOG. Ren to Aigis; Akechi; and 23 others, 8/18/XX, 7:53PM]

 **Naoto** it can’t be a coincidence.  
 **Naoto** the victims have been selected carefully.  
 **Naoto** if it were random, the killer wouldn’t have waited so long between killings.

 **Rise** Okay, but  
 **Rise** WHY?  
 **Rise** Why target these people?  
 **Rise** What did they ever do to him?

 **Akihiko** That’s the question, isn’t it?

 **Futaba** I got nothing  
 **Futaba** Silverman and Uesugi were both entertainers I guess?  
 **Futaba** Silverman was in a girl group for like, two seconds  
 **Futaba** and Uesugi was on TV  
 **Futaba** but other than that, they’re completely different. And Suou’s definitely an outlier, being a cop

 **Yukari** Well...  
 **Yukari** Maybe there’s another similarity.  
 **Yukari** Look at us. Half of us have been on TV or otherwise made famous at some point.  
 **Yukari** And several of us are or have been members of the police. Or...police-adjacent.

 **Akechi** We’re also all Persona users.

 **Ken** There’s no reason to think they were too, though, right?  
 **Ken** Right?

 **Ryuji** This is real fucked up.

 **Kanji** Yeah.

 **Mitsuru** The Kirijo Group kept files of known and potential users. I’ll look through them tomorrow and see what I can find.

 **Yukiko** @Yu @Yuki @Ren have you heard anything from Igor?

 **Ren** No.

 **Yuki** no

 **Yu** Nope. Not from Marie or Margaret, either.

 **Yukiko** They would have said something, right? If we needed to worry.

 **Aigis** They didn’t know, last time.

 **Akechi** Yes, thank you, Aigis. I was about to say.  
 **Akechi** Nyarlathotep seems to be able to act without attracting the Velvet Room’s notice.  
 **Akechi** Which, among other things, makes him very dangerous.

 **Yosuke** Understatement of the century, dude

 **Teddie** This is all beary scary >_<

 **Yosuke** Never mind. THAT is the understatement of the century

 **Haru** Don’t worry, Teddie. I’m sure everything will be all right.

 **Ren** Mitsuru, you’ll let us know if you find anything relevant?

 **Mitsuru** Yes. I’ll check in with you all tomorrow.

***

At midnight, Ren, Akechi, and Morgana were still talking about it.

Morgana perched on the chabudai, tail swishing; Akechi paced the length of the room, fingers curled beneath his chin; Ren sat on the couch, arms folded, legs crossed. They’d reviewed the facts sixteen times, explored every possible scenario, and considered every tool at their disposal. No, the Meta-Nav hadn’t come back. No, they didn’t know how to get ahold of Igor or Lavenza without it. No, Morgana couldn’t move freely between reality and the Metaverse. No—Yu had tested it—the TVs in Inaba were not suddenly allowing admission. Even if they wanted to, they couldn’t get involved yet. At least, not in any productive way.

“Naoto really doesn’t want you back at work?” Ren asked, for the tenth time.

“No,” Akechi repeated, checking his phone. “There’s nothing for me to do, she says.”

“She’s right,” Morgana pointed out. “What’re you gonna do that they’re not already doing?”

“If they’ve missed something—”

“She sent you the pictures, though, right? And the AR files.”

“That’s not the same as being there. You miss key details when you rely on photographs and recreations.”

“Naoto and Akihiko are just as good at this as you. They wouldn’t have—”

“Quiet,” Ren said, and they instantly obeyed.

For a breathless moment, there was silence. Then Ren heard it again: a whimpering, like someone was crying and trying to hide it. Someone young, and feminine—

“Maya,” Morgana said.

Akechi was already gone, and Ren not far behind him. The locked door brought Akechi up short; he cursed; Ren pressed the key into his hand and he shoved it into the knob with a sound like a gunshot.

He’d hardly switched on the light when Maya hurtled out of bed, her eyes open but blank, a scream wrenching in her throat. She vaulted across the room, drew her fist back, swung it full-force into the wall.

She gasped, her face clearing, then crumpling.

“ _Maya_ ,” Akechi barked, kneeling beside her, grabbing her wrist. “What—”

She made a choked noise, tried to twist away, but Ren caught her other shoulder to hold her still. “Let him see.”

Maya stopped struggling, blinking fast, tears spilling down her cheeks. Ren brushed them away. Akechi bent his head over her hand and flexed her fingers, her palm, cataloguing the damage. Ren winced at the raw patches on her knuckles, the red flush blooming across her skin; she’d be bruised tomorrow, and probably swollen. Akechi pressed here and there, ignoring her muted whimpers, intent on his work.

“Nothing broken,” he said at last. Ren sagged with relief. “What happened? What did you see?”

Maya swallowed hard, shook her head. Ren squeezed her shoulder. “This is important, Maya. You have to tell us what you saw.”

“It—” She coughed a sob, drew a shuddering breath, squeezed her eyes shut. “It was my mom.”

Ren went cold. Akechi tensed.

“She was standing there—” Maya started to look, cringed, closed her eyes again. “She was—she kept saying—that it was my fault, that I—that I was the reason—”

“No,” Ren said. “No, no, no.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she snarled, knocking his hand away when he tried to touch her face again. “If I’d been better, if I’d taken better care of Sai—she wouldn’t have—she’d be—”

Akechi folded his arms around her and drew her to him. Maya shuddered, buried her face in his shoulder, and _wailed_ , raw and animal. It was a horrible, gutting sound, pure pain given voice. It broke Ren’s heart.

Morgana bumped his head against Ren’s arm. “I brought the first aid kit,” he said, ears and tail low. “For her hand.”

“Thank you,” Ren murmured. “Can you go check on Sai for me?”

Morgana nodded and dashed off. Ren sat back on his heels, glanced at Akechi, at the sharp line of his jaw, and decided to make himself useful. Opening the first aid kit, he took out the bandages, cut one to size; prepped an alcohol swab; uncapped the antibiotic ointment. By the time the mini-clinic was ready, Maya had subsided into hiccups, and Akechi had come back to himself. He accepted the supplies as Ren offered them, dabbing Maya’s knuckles, coating them with the ointment, wrapping the bandage around her hand. She watched, sniffling.

Ren handed a tissue to Akechi, who held it to Maya’s nose and said, “Blow.” She blew. Ren folded it up and went to throw it away.

Morgana met him at the door. “Sai’s fine,” he reported. “Still asleep.”

Ren’s stomach clenched. That meant she was used to this kind of commotion; that she’d learned to sleep through it. “Thanks. Will you stay in here with Maya tonight?”

“Course,” Morgana replied firmly.

Ren returned to Akechi, touched his back.

“Are you ready to go back to sleep?” Akechi asked Maya.

Maya nodded. Sliding one arm beneath her knees, Akechi hoisted her up and carried her across the room. Ren beat him to the bed, pulling back the duvet so he could lay her down.

“Morgana’s going to stay with you,” Ren said, as the cat settled beside her pillow. “If you need us, just call.”

Maya nodded. Akechi laid the duvet over her, smoothed her hair back from her face.

“Maya,” he said, low and serious. “Look at me.”

She looked.

“You are _not_ ,” he said, leaning down so that—Ren knew, from experience—all she could see was him, “responsible for what happened to your mother.”

Maya’s mouth twisted. “But—”

“ _No_. It is not your fault. You are not responsible.”

“But if I’d—”

“You did everything you could,” Akechi said. “You did everything right. You couldn’t have stopped her from dying.”

“How do you _know_?” she asked, desperately.

Akechi hesitated. Ren pressed his hand between Akechi’s shoulderblades, against his heart dancing the fandango on his spine.

“Let’s go in to see Hinata tomorrow,” Akechi said, “and I’ll tell you.”

By the time they stepped back into the hall, Akechi was visibly trembling. Ren opened his mouth, and Akechi snapped, “Don’t,” and walked away. Ren gave him a thirty-second head start.

Akechi strode from one end of the living room to the other, eyes blazing, arms stiff at his sides. Ren leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, watching him.

“Why would anyone,” Akechi growled, spinning on his heel to stalk back in the opposite direction, “put that sort of pressure on a child? _Their_ child?”

“I don’t know.”

“Expecting her to take care of her sister—an _infant_ —and then blaming her when she couldn’t—”

“We don’t know if she actually blamed her.”

Akechi shot him what was, by now, an uncharacteristically ugly look. “Of course she did,” he countered. “Maya didn’t cook that up on her own. She got the idea from somewhere.”

“I wouldn’t discount what the brain can cook up on its own.”

“Don’t play therapist at me,” Akechi spat. “Not now.”

“I’m not.”

“She was a child. _Is_ a child. Eight then, ten now—too young to—and for that woman to hang herself, where they could find her, where they could _see_ —”

“She wasn’t well.”

“ _I_ know that,” Akechi said, whipping around. “But Maya doesn’t! She can’t possibly understand. She’s too young. She’s too—caught up—wondering what she did wrong—”

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“ _I know that_. But she—”

“Are you really going to tell her what happened to you?” Ren asked, straightening up. “Did you mean that?”

“Of course I meant it. Why shouldn’t I? If it helps her—”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ren said. “I think it’s brave.”

Akechi stiffened, scoffed, looked away. “ _Brave_. Whatever that means. Whatever good bravery’s done me, all this time—”

Ren caught Akechi around the waist and bore him backward until his own elbows jarred painfully against the wall. It didn’t take much to pin him there.

“What are you—”

Ren tucked his chin into the crook of Akechi’s neck and murmured, “You’re such a good dad.”

Akechi stopped.

“She’s so lucky to have you,” Ren said, leaning his full weight forward to hold Akechi together as he threatened to shake apart. “She has no idea how lucky. I hope she never does. I hope she takes it for granted, someday, that you’re there for her.”

“Ren,” Akechi said, a puff of breath against his ear.

“I love you.” Ren nuzzled his neck, his jaw, the soft skin underneath his ear. “I love the way you talk to her, the way you look at her. I love that you love her. I wish somebody had loved you like that when you were ten. I wish somebody had been angry for you.”

Akechi’s chest hitched. Ren pressed his forehead against Akechi’s temple, curled his arms across Akechi’s back and gripped his shoulders from behind.

“She’s never going to have to feel the way you felt again,” he said. “Ever. The rest of her life, she’ll never be alone.” Ren tipped his chin up, kissed the corner of Akechi’s mouth. “And neither will you.”

Akechi made a desolate sound, sharply cut off, and clutched him, hands twisting into his shirt.

***

[CHATLOG. Mitsuru to Aigis, Akechi, Akihiko, and 5 others, 8/24/XX, 1:00PM]

 **Mitsuru** I’m sorry it took me so long.  
 **Mitsuru** I’ve found something, but I’m not comfortable sharing it over text.

 **Ren** This chat is encrypted. Futaba set it up.

 **Mitsuru** I know. I’m still not comfortable.  
 **Mitsuru** I’m sorry for the short notice, but would you all be able to come to Iwatodai this weekend?

 **Naoto** yes.

 **Chie** Sure.

 **Aigis** @Naoto @Akechi @Ren @Yu @Chie You’re welcome to stay with us.

 **Akihiko** Or with us.

 **Naoto** @Aigis i'll take you up on that, thank you.

 **Yu** Naoto, Chie, and I will travel together. Are you sure you don’t mind if we stay with you?

 **Yuki** more the merrier

 **Yu** All right.

[CHATLOG. Akechi to Aigis, Akihiko, Chie, and 5 others, 8/24/XX, 2:34PM]

 **Akechi** I’ll be there, and I’ll fill Ren in when I get home.

 **Akihiko** Spare bedroom’s yours, if you want it.

 **Akechi** No, thank you. It’s only a two hour train ride. I’ll manage.  
 **Akechi** Are we aiming for Saturday?

 **Yu** Yeah, I think that’d be best.

 **Naoto** i agree.

 **Aigis** Yes.

 **Mitsuru** Saturday it is. Akechi, let us know what time your train arrives. We’ll pick you up.

***

Mitsuru took the group—Akihiko, Akechi, Yuki, Aigis, Naoto, Chie, and Yu—through three different locked doors, each larger and more imposing than the last. Beyond the third one was an elevator that might have been for freight, once.

“We’re heading into the Vault?” Akihiko said. “What the hell did you find?”

“Not here,” said Mitsuru curtly, scanning a passcard. The elevator opened. “Everyone in.”

She followed them into the elevator, scanned the card again. With a beep, and a _clang_ , the doors closed and they descended.

It took a long time. No one seemed much inclined to talk. Instinctively, Akechi checked his phone. No signal: if Ren needed to get ahold of him, it would have to wait. The idea made anxiety curl in his stomach. He opened the chat app and reread his last conversation with Ren, in which Akechi had asked about twenty times if everything was all right. How had breakfast gone? What was Sai doing? What was Maya doing? _Everything’s fine, Papa_ , Ren had replied, over and over again, with infinite patience.

(Maya and Sai both called Akechi “Papa” now. Hearing the word still made his throat tighten.)

“The first time away from home can be tough,” Naoto said, peering over Akechi’s shoulder.

Akechi startled, cut her a glance, switched off the screen. “Apparently.”

“It’s good you’re going back today. It’ll lessen the sting.”

“For them, or for me?”

“For them. The sting will never go away for you.”

Naoto smiled with real, nostalgic affection. Akechi smiled back.

The elevator glided so smoothly to a stop that Akechi almost didn’t notice. Mitsuru led them into a small, dimly lit concrete room. Straight ahead, towering some ten feet high, was a literal, actual vault door, like something out of a black and white heist film.

“Whoa,” Chie said.

Mitsuru tapped a complicated code into a small panel on the front of the door. There was a cheerful _ping_ , and the panel popped open, revealing a keyhole. Into this, she inserted a large, almost Victorian key. With a flick of her wrist, the door began to move. It spun in sections, clockwise from the outside in. As each section completed a rotation, it emitted a loud _CLACK_ and receded deeper into the wall. Finally, the centermost section snapped into place, and the whole contraption rolled aside.

Akihiko, Aigis, and Yuki didn’t seem surprised by any of this. (Then again, Yuki never seemed surprised by anything.) Akechi didn’t let his surprise show, and neither did Naoto; but Chie and Yu gaped openly.

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Mitsuru strode into the Vault. It turned out to be something like an archive, albeit a grim and unwelcoming one. Shelving units filled with gray document boxes, some upright, others flat, lined the walls. Recessed lighting illuminated the shelves and the three wooden tables in the middle of the room, but the walls and ceiling were painted black, and the floor was gray. There was space enough for the group to fan out around the nearest table, but they had to stand shoulder-to-shoulder.

Mitsuru braced her hands on the edge of the table, staring past everyone else at the vault door. After a moment, it ground back to life and closed, sealing them in.

“All right,” Mitsuru said. “Even here, I don’t know if we’re safe. But it’s the best I can do.”

“Mitsuru,” Aigis said, “what on earth did you find?”

“Them,” she replied. “All of them. Uesugi, Suou, and Silverman.”

She turned around, opened a document box, and withdrew three file folders.

“They were questioned in 2001,” she said, opening the folders so everyone could see the pictures pinned inside. “All of them denied having the power, which, of course they did. The interviewer who spoke with Uesugi says he seemed _shifty_ , and Suou practically threw him out of his house. Silverman played it cooler. The Group kept tabs on them until 2010, when I ended the surveillance program. In those nine years, they were never seen using a Persona. But they consistently displayed energy markers that suggested they could have, if they’d tried.

“In fact,” she added, eyeing Yuki and Aigis, “Suou’s tail noted that he was behaving strangely on January 31, 2010.” Mitsuru spun Suou’s folder around and picked up one of the papers within. “ ‘Subject seems extremely agitated. Left work early. Spent a lot of time on his phone. Not able to get close enough to overhear his conversations.’ ”

“That was the day you fought Nyx, wasn’t it?” Akechi asked.

“Yes,” Yuki replied.

“Could Suou sense that something was wrong?” Naoto mused.

“Possibly,” Mitsuru said. “So: they were, as far as I can tell, Persona users, or they had the potential.”

“Which means,” Yu said, “this killer is targeting Persona users.”

Which both narrowed and widened the potential pool of victims significantly.

“That’s not all,” Mitsuru said.

Turning around, she began grabbing file folders out of another document box and slapping them down onto the table.

“Maya Amano. Yuka Ayase. Masao Inaba. Eriko Kirishima. Reiji Kido. Jun Kurosu. Yukino Mayuzumi. Eikichi Mishina. Kei Nanjo. Kaoru Saga. Ulala Serizawa. Maki Sonomura. Tatsuya Suou. Naoya Todo.” She slammed her hands on the tabletop. “All Persona users, some confirmed, others suspected. All dead.”

“ _Tat_ suya Suou—?” Akihiko said.

“Katsuya’s brother. He died in a motorbike accident. In fact, they all died in accidents.” She swept her hand across the jumbled folders. “Fires. Crashes. Falls. The sorts of things that wouldn't raise suspicion. That could be attributed to bad luck. And _why_ ,” she snapped at Akechi, “are you smiling like that?”

Akechi covered his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said, struggling to tamp down the perverse glee thrumming in his throat. “I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s so _perfect._ How long has this been going on?”

“The first death was in 2002.”

Akechi cackled despite himself. “Talk about playing the long game. Thirty years, picking them off one by one, making it look like coincidence. How did he do it? He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He said he was trapped...he must have been sending _emissaries_ for far longer than he let on.”

Yu, Yuki, and Aigis were the only ones who weren’t suddenly looking at him with confusion, disgust, or suspicion. He knew he wasn’t reacting appropriately, knew laughter was not the correct response in the face of such a revelation, but he couldn’t help it. It was funny. Persona users had been dying for decades, quietly, slowly, presumably because of Nyarlathotep, and none of them had known. None of them had suspected they weren’t the only ones out there. They hadn’t even gone looking.

Akechi wished Ren was here.

“ _He_?” Naoto said. “Who’s _he_?”

“You know who,” Akechi said. “Nyarlathotep. The Crawling Chaos. Killing people from beyond the pale.”

“There were _incidents_ ,” said Mitsuru, “in Mikage-cho and Sumaru City, in 1996 and 1999. Strange deaths, rumors, murders. In Sumaru, the story went that if you dialed a certain number, you could request that something called _Joker_ —”

Akechi laughed outright.

“—come and kill someone for you. It was dismissed as a hoax, of course. But...”

“Joker,” Naoto repeated. “A Persona, perhaps?”

Akechi turned around and walked away from them. The air felt thin and insubstantial, like the recycled garbage on airplanes; his windpipe shrank to a pinprick in a balloon. With a jolt, he identified what he was feeling: _panic_. A foreign emotion, apart from what he’d read, or heard, or seen when he’d talked Ren through his very occasional panic attacks. It often stemmed from uncertainty, and Akechi couldn’t remember the last time he’d been uncertain. Conflicted, sure. But he’d always known his options, and one way or another, he’d always chosen a way forward.

They’d fought Nyarlathotep before, and won. But Nyarlathotep could, apparently, act without anyone’s knowledge, even theirs. He could reach out from beyond the bounds of reality and murder people with impunity. How did you stop a monster like that? How did you protect the people who mattered from it?

Akechi wasn’t worried about himself, or Ren, or any of the others: they could all defend themselves, or call for help if they needed it. No. He was thinking about Maya and Sai, the two little girls who had already lost the person they loved most, who had been told over and over again that Akechi and Ren would take care of them, who had finally begun to believe it. If Nyarlathotep found out about them—who was Akechi kidding? He already knew. Of course he did. If he _found them_ —or if he found Ren and Akechi, and they died—

It would be Akechi’s fault. It had been his idea, after all. Ren hadn’t thought about children before Akechi brought it up. Akechi had pushed the point, Akechi had spearheaded the effort, Akechi had opened his daughters, their daughters, up to hurt and loss. Maya and Sai were happier with them, yes, but wouldn’t that make it worse when it all fell apart?

Movement, in his periphery: Akechi turned, bristling, and stopped. It was Makoto Yuki, standing beside him with his hands in his pockets.

Akechi had never understood Yuki’s appeal. Ren liked him, and certainly the Shadow Operatives liked him too. But to Akechi, he’d always seemed so…boring. All of the Wild Card leaders were, to some extent, mirrors of other people; that was why they were able to form bonds so easily. (That was why Akechi had never lived up to his Wild Card potential: he’d learned how to project what people wanted, but not what they needed.) But Yu and Ren at least had personalities outside of that. Yuki was all mirror, all the time. Smooth, still waters.

Yuki peered up at Akechi from under still-long hair, his silver eyes faintly gold in the dim light. He said, “Whatever comes, we’ll face it together.”

And Akechi relaxed. Just like that.

 _That_ was the trick. He was like…a heat sink. Still waters that could swallow any wave. Not smother it, but spread it out so that by the time it reached the shore, it was nothing more than a ripple.

“Thank you,” Akechi said quietly.

Yuki nodded.

They rejoined the others. Aigis smiled at him, and Yu nodded, but Akihiko, Mitsuru, Naoto, and Chie hardly noticed.

“I think it’s at least worth looking into,” Chie was saying. “He’s the only dude we know who’s ever targeted Persona users on purpose—”

“But he wasn’t trying to kill us,” Naoto reminded her.

“Not directly, no, but he might as well have! What do you think would’ve happened if he’d worn our Personas down enough?”

“Who are we talking about?” Akechi asked Yu in an undertone.

Yu shifted his weight. “Sho Minazuki.”

 _Ah_. Akechi hadn’t been present for that conflict, but he knew the story. Sho was a product of the Kirijo Group’s experiments, forced to awaken to a Persona even though he wasn’t naturally inclined to it. The results had been a) a split personality and b) homicidal tendencies, cured, as always, by a good talking-to and a couple of solid punches.

“Has Sho contacted you?” Mitsuru asked Yu.

“No. I haven’t seen or heard from him since then.”

“You know who might have, though?” said Akihiko thoughtfully.

The texture of the air changed. Akechi looked around, with interest, at Chie, suddenly glaring at the floor; at Naoto, pointedly neutral; at Yu, statuesque. He had never seen Yu go away inside himself like that before.

“Who?” he asked.

“Adachi,” said Naoto, the way you might say, _dogshit_.

A muscle in Yu’s neck fluttered, as if he’d started to turn his face away but then thought better of it.

Akechi knew this story, too, but not from Yu. He knew it from Yosuke. Yu had never talked about it, even with Ren.

“I see,” Akechi murmured.

“If we’re going to talk to him,” Naoto added, briskly, “we should have a neutral party present. Someone who’s never met him before. Someone who can judge whether or not he’s telling the truth.”

“Someone like me?” Akechi said.

“If you’re up for it.”

Up for interrogating a chaos agent about the god of all chaos agents? Sign him up.

“Certainly.”

“Then I’ll arrange an interview. He’s in Tokyo, so it shouldn’t require any travel for you. I’ll let you know once I have a date set.”

Akechi tugged his sleeves. “Fine.”

“Anything else to discuss?” Naoto asked, glancing at the others.

“I don’t think we should talk about this in writing,” Mitsuru said. “Or, frankly, over any kind of electronic media. We don’t know who could be listening.”

“So we’ll have to tell everyone in person,” Aigis murmured. “That could be difficult. Some of them travel so often…”

“We’ll figure out a way to get in touch,” Yu assured her.

“Seems like that about covers it,” Akihiko said, rubbing the back of his neck. To Akechi, he added, “I suppose you want to be on the next train?”

“If possible, yes.”

“Let’s get going, then. I’ll give you a ride to the station.”

***

The moment Akechi’s phone picked up a signal again, it buzzed in rapid succession: messages from Ren, none of them urgent.

_Sai put one of her dolls’ dresses on Morgana [photo]._

_I sneaked a peek at what Maya’s building in Craft-Z. She’s going to kill me, but it was worth it._

_Ryuji says hi. We met up with him at the park._

_I’m making curry for dinner. Yes, again._

Akechi’s heart hurt.

As soon as he got on the train, he called Ren. Ren picked up on the second ring.

“Hey,” he said. “What’s wrong?”

Akechi smirked. “Worried about me?”

“No.” A patent lie. “Why are you _calling_ me?”

“I wanted to tell you that I’m on the train.”

“You could’ve texted me that.”

“Who’s that?” said Sai’s voice, close to the mic.

“Not so loud, Sai-chan. It’s your papa. You want to say hi?”

“ _Hi, Baba_!” Sai bellowed. Akechi flinched away from the phone.

“You don’t have to yell,” snapped Maya, distantly.

“Sorry,” Sai said. “Hi, Baba.”

“Hello, Sai-chan. How are you?”

There was a pause. Then Ren said, “Sai, you should say something.”

Sai giggled. Akechi smiled. “Your dad said you went to the park today. Did you have fun?”

“Uh-huh.”

“That’s good. …Can I talk to Ren now?”

“Uh-huh. Bye, Baba.”

“Goodbye, Sai-chan.”

“Maya,” said Ren’s voice, “do you want to talk to him?”

“I just saw him this morning,” she sighed, but she accepted the phone. “Hi, Papa.”

“Hi, Maya. I heard Ren spied on your Craft-Z project.”

“Yeah! He did!” Maya exclaimed. “I left my tablet on the couch and when I got back he was snooping! Who does he think he is?”

“I ask myself that question daily,” Akechi said.

“What time will you be home?”

Akechi pulled the phone away from his ear to check the clock. “Another two and a half hours or so. In time for dinner. You’ll help with the curry?”

“Of course I will. He can’t do it without me.”

Akechi detected the distinct note of pride, and smiled wider.

“Good. I’m looking forward to it. Hand me back, please.”

“Okay. Take your time coming home.”

“I will.”

Rustling, and then a faint click as Ren tucked the phone between his shoulder and his ear.

“So,” Ren said. “Hang on…okay. Stepped out. How’d it go?”

Akechi opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out.

Ren’s breath crackled against the mic. “That bad, huh?”

“I can’t tell you what I know over the phone,” Akechi said, staring out at the passing countryside. “But…it’s definitely worse than we thought.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Akechi snorted. “Yes. I don’t know what I expected. …Naoto needs me back.”

“I figured.”

“It won’t mean travel right away, but eventually it will.”

“That’s all right.”

“Is it? The girls—”

“You had to go back to work sometime,” Ren pointed out. “Hell, _I_ have to go back to work sometime. This is important. We’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t want you to feel—”

“I don’t.”

“Ren.”

“Akechi,” Ren said, and then, quieter, “Goro.” Akechi closed his eyes. “We’ll talk about it when you get home. Be careful.”

“You too,” Akechi murmured. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> q: where were the p1 and p2 characters during p3, p4, and p5?   
> a: in their graves.


	6. Take Me to War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** persona 4 spoilers; homophobia and homophobic language; blink-and-you'll-miss-it misgendering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[All of the words I’ve swallowed](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGkUye2L-38) _
> 
> _[All of the sharp things I’ve kept in my mouth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGkUye2L-38) _
> 
> _[I am always bleeding out](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGkUye2L-38) _

Going to the park with Ryuji and the girls quickly became a standing tradition, especially once Ann was summoned to Paris to help prepare for Fashion Week. Without her, Ryuji was more or less stuck at home with Mei, Suzume, and Uta, who promptly ground him into the carpet. Ren helped where he could, but with Akechi working from home on the case, it was hard to justify inviting them all over. They’d tried it once or twice, but all five girls had quickly gotten bored in the tiny backyard. And once the Takamaki daughters were bored, all bets were off.

Getting everyone outside was a good compromise. Even Maya seemed to enjoy it. As much as she tried to hold herself above and away from Mei, who was enamored of her, she tolerated Mei’s demands and picadilloes and looked out for Suzume in all of their rough-and-tumble games. (She also resigned herself to Ren’s unstinting praise; she hardly blushed anymore.)

Today, the sky was overcast and the wind crisp and rich with the smell of fall while Ren and Ryuji watched the kids play. Sai and Uta amused themselves digging in the mulch. Occasionally, Uta handed Sai a particularly interesting chunk of wood, which Sai added to her growing mulch monster with great gravity. Meanwhile, Mei took center stage as usual with Maya and Suzume, pointing at various points on the playground to outline what she called “the steeplechase.” (This would normally have been a dangerous prospect, but Maya had things under control. Anytime she said, “I don’t want to do that,” Mei immediately relented.) Presumably at some point they’d start running around.

“Things still goin’ okay?” Ryuji asked, slinging one arm over the back of the bench.

Ren didn’t quite hesitate. There’d been no movement on the case, which meant no additional victims, but also no progress finding the killer. Ren had plenty of practice with sitting around and waiting, but less with enduring long-term helplessness. Talking about it—Ryuji’s favorite coping strategy—was downright unpleasant.

“Which things?” 

Ryuji flashed him a crooked smile. “Guess there’s a lot goin’ on, huh? Things with the kids.”

Ren relaxed. “Yeah,” he said. “Pretty okay. Sai’s talking better than ever.”

She was audible even from here, maintaining a steady stream of chatter as she gave her mulch monster a pair of ears. Some of it was babble, but most of it was coherent, words and phrases strung together in sentences that made sense in the abstract, if not necessarily altogether. Ren loved the sound of her voice, high and clear and confident.

A group of boys about Maya’s age ran past and flung themselves onto the climbing bars. A little ways away, their parents—three women and a man—settled themselves at a picnic table.

Mei clapped her hands together and said, “Right! Let’s go!”

The trio scattered, Suzume shrieking with laughter as Mei pelted after her. Maya jogged along behind them, deliberately holding herself back.

“How about Maya?” Ryuji said. “She still giving you grief?”

This was an unpleasant subject too. “Not as much,” Ren replied, lowering his voice. “I’m still not sure she likes me. But I think we’re getting better. It’s been a while since she raised her voice to me, for sure.”

“That’s good. Guess Akechi got through to her.”

“Akechi,” Ren said, smiling despite himself, “is her favorite person. You should see the way she looks at him.”

Ryuji reached over and ruffled Ren’s hair. “I’m happy for you, man,” he said, beaming. “I hope all this other shit calms down soon so you guys can really enjoy being dads.”

“Hah,” Ren said. “Wouldn’t that be nice.”

One of the boys on the climbing bars, a rangy kid with black hair cropped close to his scalp, swung himself down to the ground. For a second, he stood there watching Maya, Mei, and Suzume, his eyes slightly narrowed. Suzume passed him without incident. But when Mei reached him, his foot shot out and hooked her ankle. She sprawled onto her stomach, barely catching herself on her elbows before her face could hit the dirt.

Ren leapt to his feet, followed closely by Ryuji, who bellowed, “ _Oi!_ ”

The boy jumped, looked around, paled at the sight of them. And then Maya slammed into him, a clean strike of shoulder to chest that knocked him onto his back.

One of the women at the picnic table squawked, “ _Daigo_!”

Maya stood scowling down at the boy, Daigo, who goggled at her, pushing himself up with difficulty. Mei sat up, looked at the raw scrapes on her arms, and started to cry. That set Suzume off, followed by Uta and Sai, who hadn’t even been watching but knew to echo the siren’s wail when they heard it.

The parents got there at the same time, Ren dropping to one knee to assess the damage while Daigo’s mother and Ryuji squared off.

“It’s all right,” Ren soothed, brushing grit and gravel from Mei’s skin. She sniffled. “That was pretty scary, huh?”

“Your kid tripped my kid!” Ryuji barked.

“What are you talking about?” Daigo’s mother demanded. “That girl pushed my son!”

“Yeah, because he tripped my daughter!”

“Ridiculous. Daigo would never!”

“Are you kidding me, lady? We saw it happen!”

“You _did_ trip her,” Maya snarled at Daigo, who quailed under the force of her stare. “Say you’re sorry.”

“Get away from him,” Daigo’s mother spat, starting forward, but Ren cut in front of her.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” he said, coldly.

She recoiled, looked at Ryuji, looked back at Ren. Her friends pressed in close behind her, their own children clustering around them like nervous ducklings. “And who are _you_ , now?”

“I’m her father.”

The woman’s eyes widened. She lifted her chin. “Is that right? Do you often let her attack other children unprovoked?”

“It wasn’t unprovoked!” Ryuji exclaimed. “ _Your kid tripped my kid_!”

“Daigo,” said the woman, “is this true?”

“No,” said Daigo. He’d found his feet, and now he scuttled past Ren to cling to his mother’s side.

“Yes it _is_ ,” Maya snapped, surging forward, but Ren caught her shoulder.

“We saw you,” Ren said, locking eyes with Daigo. “Are you saying it was an accident?”

Daigo flushed. His mother said, “He’s saying it didn’t happen, and I believe him.”

Sai, no longer crying, came over and wrapped her arms around Maya. Maya hugged her back, glaring at Daigo.

“Look!” Ryuji said, pointing at Mei, who was still rubbing her arms. “She’s all banged up! How did that happen, if he didn’t do anything?”

“She tripped, obviously.”

“Bull _shit_!”

“Maya,” said Ren, “apologize.”

Maya blinked, bristled. “No! I didn’t—”

“No matter what happened,” he said, meeting her gaze, “it’s wrong to push people. Apologize.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, gritted her teeth so hard that her jaw flickered. Then, lowering her head, she grumbled, “Sorry.”

“Thank you.” Ren turned back to Daigo, who flinched. “Now it’s your turn. Apologize to Mei for tripping her.”

“You don’t have to say anything, Daigo,” the boy’s mother said, glowing with a kind of triumph. “You didn’t do—”

“’ry,” he squeaked, pushing his face against her shirt.

She stopped. “What was that?”

“’m sorry,” he repeated, marginally louder.

The woman deflated. Ryuji practically whooped; if they’d been fifteen years younger, he probably would have.

“S’okay,” Mei said, wiping her nose.

Ren released Maya’s shoulder. “Let’s go. Mei needs to get cleaned up.”

“Yeah, c’mon, guys,” Ryuji said, lifting Uta to his hip. “Shoulda brought the first aid kit, I guess...”

Ren could feel Maya fuming the whole way out of the park, into the underground, through the turnstiles. Only once they’d parted ways with Ryuji did she say, “Why did you make me say sorry?”

Ren adjusted his grip on Sai. “Because you pushed him.”

“He tripped Mei!”

“We don’t use violence as a punishment, Maya. We use it as a defense.”

“I was defending her! He hurt her.”

“Was he going to hurt her again? Was he going to kick her, or hit her?”

Maya started to answer, paused, pursed her lips. “No. I guess not.”

“You shouldn’t touch anyone against their will,” Ren said, “unless they’re _actively_ trying to hurt you or someone else.”

“But what if he _had_ gone after her? Was I just supposed to stand there?”

“No. You could put yourself between them, and if he tried to go through you, you’d stop him.”

Maya narrowed her eyes in a shockingly good imitation of Akechi. “How?”

Ren grinned. “Would you like to learn?”

***

Morgana greeted them at the door. “Hiiii,” he said, and then “ _Augh_ ,” when Sai immediately scooped him up and toddled away. Maya, luminous and resplendent, marched off to her room with her head held high and her new dogi clutched to her chest.

Akechi was on the couch, frowning at his tablet. “Hello,” he said absently, as Ren dropped a kiss on top of his head. “You were gone a while. How was it?”

“I signed Maya up for aikido,” Ren replied, padding into the kitchen. “She has class Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.”

It took a moment for Akechi to process this. “What?” he said eventually, looking up. “Wait. What?”

***

[CHATLOG. Naoto to Akechi, 9/16/XX, 9:18AM]

_I’ve finally heard back from Fuchu. We’re scheduled for Friday the 19 th at 6:20 in the evening. I’ll plan to drive in and pick you up at about 5:30._

***

[CHATLOG. Yu to Akechi, 9/19/XX, 4:00PM]

_Hey._

_I wanted to say: Adachi hits low, and he hits hard._

_Be careful._

***

Akechi counted himself lucky that he’d never spent any significant amount of time inside the “justice” system. For all the government’s grand talk about rehabilitation and reform, the true purpose of prison was _retribution_. If the system worked as intended, then by the end of your sentence (or your life, as the case might be), you’d be a shell of yourself. Hollowed out by days, weeks, months, years of repetition, boredom, and humiliation. There were few people who could maintain their grip on individuality, much less sanity, under such conditions.

Tohru Adachi was one of those people. He didn’t look _happy_ as he was led into the little interrogation room, but he definitely didn’t look broken. He was thin, tending to gaunt, with purple circles beneath his eyes and a faint shadow on his cheek (probably either a healing bruise or a hastily masked one). His hair had turned—Akechi glanced at his notes—prematurely grey, dull as dishwater and stringy as straw. He blinked sleepily as the guard shoved him into a chair, watched with vague disinterest as his handcuffs were locked to the table. (Pointlessly. He had no weapons; there were no TVs around. And if he could summon a Persona, handcuffs wouldn’t stop him.)

“I’ll be outside,” the guard told Akechi and Naoto. “Call if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Naoto said.

The guard departed. As soon as the heavy, soundproofed door clicked shut, Adachi came back to himself—or, at least, to the version of himself he wanted them to see.

“ _Weeeeell_ ,” he said, gray eyes glittering. “Well, well, well. This is a surprise. You’re cutting into my leisure time, you know. This had better be good.”

Akechi dipped his head delicately toward his notebook, wrote: _Impudent little shit_.

“I don’t know about good,” Naoto said. “Important, yes.”

“You’re not gonna introduce me to your stenographer?”

Akechi glanced up. Adachi was studying him, one corner of his mouth curled upward.

“He’s simply here to observe,” Naoto said.

“Don’t I know you, kid?”

“Do you call everyone _kid_?” Akechi replied. “I suppose you must. Getting up there, aren’t you?”

“Hey, hey, hey, pretty boy’s got fangs!” Adachi said, grinning. He slouched forward, scanning Akechi’s face. “I _do_ know you. You used to make the rounds on the morning shows, right? The second Prince Detective.” He cut a glance at Naoto. “Did that bother you, Princess?”

“We need to ask you about Sho Minazuki,” Naoto said.

Adachi stopped smiling. “That psycho? Why?”

“No reason in particular.”

“Bullshit. What’s he up to this time?”

Akechi wrote: _Scared of Sho._

“I’m not scared of him,” Adachi countered. Akechi was mildly gratified that he’d caught on so fast. “Kid was a lunatic. Minazuki was the only one with any sense, and he’s gone.”

Akechi crossed out _Sho_ and wrote _Minazuki_. Adachi scowled.

“What is this?” he asked Naoto. “Why’re you really here?”

“Someone’s been targeting Persona users,” Naoto said. “We wondered if Sho might be involved.”

“How should I know?”

“Has he contacted you?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m messing with you. Yeah, _really_. I’ve been sitting on my thumb like a good little boy. Like I promised.”

Interesting choice of words.

“Targeting how?” Adachi added. “Killing them?”

“No,” Naoto replied, but Adachi saw right through that.

“How’s he doing it?” he asked, leaning forward, nakedly eager. “Wait! Better question. Who’s he offed?”

“No one you know,” Akechi said.

“You’d be surprised what I know,” Adachi sneered, “ _Goro Akechi_.”

Akechi nodded, laid down his pen. “No one you know,” he repeated, folding his hands on top of his notebook. “There’ve been three victims. Two murdered ritually and one in a fit of rage.”

“Sword? Gun? What’re we talking?”

“Knife. Not traditionally Sho’s weapon of choice, but it’s been a long time. Tastes change.”

“Ha,” Adachi said. He was craned forward so far that his chest almost brushed the table, his face alight with a monstrous hunger. “Sho wouldn’t’ve had the patience for rituals. He was always itching to gut somebody. But like you said, tastes change.”

“And where do your tastes run, these days?”

Adachi looked delighted.

“Oh ho _ho_ ,” he said, practically clapping his hands. “You think _I_ did it? How?”

“You tell me.”

Adachi smiled at Naoto. “Your secretary’s gone rogue. You gonna rein him in?”

Naoto shifted, crossed his legs. “We have to explore every possibility. If you’re telling the truth, and Sho hasn’t contacted you, then you’re our next best suspect.”

“Because I threw a couple people into the TV? C’mon. That shit was easy. Why would I go to all the trouble of tracking somebody down and cutting ‘em open?”

“To be clear,” Akechi said, “I don’t actually suspect you. These particular murders require a finesse you are patently incapable of.”

Adachi coughed a laugh. “Look, Sho wouldn’t need my help, all right? If he could get it together long enough to start stabbing people to death, he wouldn’t come looking for me. I don’t even know why he did last time.”

“You didn’t identify with him at all?” Naoto asked. “He didn’t come to trust you?”

“No, and no. You met the guy; he was a loser. I couldn’t get away from him fast enough.”

“So he’d have no reason to seek you out,” Akechi said. “All right. What about you? Anything exciting happen to you lately?”

“Nope. Nothing exciting’s happened to me in, oh, about twenty years.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Nah. I’m used to it.”

“Really,” said Akechi, flat. “And what stopped you from getting used to it in Inaba?”

“Izanami.”

“So if another god was involved,” Naoto said, “and made you an equally generous offer, would you take it?”

Adachi raised his eyebrows. “What’s the offer?”

“Power,” Akechi replied. “Freedom. Oh, but—you wouldn’t try to escape, right? You _promised_.”

All trace of mirth vanished from Adachi’s face. It was like leaning down to smell a flower and discovering a slug inside.

“Don’t pretend you’re better than me,” he said.

“I’m not pretending.”

A muscle flickered in Adachi’s cheek. He rolled his shoulders back, spread his hands on the tabletop.

“All right, wise guy,” he hissed. “You want to know why we’re on opposite sides of this table?”

“Sure.”

“I didn’t settle,” Adachi said, “for being some twink’s little bitch.”

Naoto stiffened. Akechi snorted. “What?”

“Some of the guys you fucked over are still in here, you know. They talk about you a lot. What you did. How you got away with it.”

“I’ll bet they do.”

“They think you cut a deal,” Adachi continued, as if Akechi hadn’t spoken. “You were friends with that prosecutor, right? They think you snitched and she let you go. Some of them think nastier shit than that. But I know the truth.”

“ _Do_ you?” Akechi murmured.

“I was in your shoes once,” Adachi said. “I could’ve played the sympathy card. I could’ve whined about how awful my life was, cried about _friendship_ and _love_ and _justice_ , _uwu_.” He pronounced it _oo-woo._ “But I have more self-respect than that.”

“Self-respect,” Akechi said. “I see. That’s why you killed two women who wouldn’t fuck you. Right?”

“ _It sure is_ ,” Adachi breathed. “It _sure_ is. And it’s why I didn’t bend over the minute some holier-than-thou kid offered to put his dick in my ass.”

Akechi frowned, backtracking, trying to follow the thread; but Naoto snapped, “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Blood in the water. Adachi leaned forward, grinning like the shark he was.

“I suppose he never told you he followed me around like a little girl,” he purred. Naoto’s fists clenched. “For _months_. He kept ‘running into’ me. Made me lunch. Invited me over. If I swung that way, it would’ve been better than having a wife. At least he didn’t nag all the time.”

Understanding dawned. Akechi wrinkled his nose. “Are you talking about Narukami?”

“He’s still with golden boy, right?” Adachi added, watching Naoto. “That’s cute. True love. If you don’t mind sloppy seconds.”

“Do you spend a lot of time fantasizing about seventeen-year-olds?” Akechi asked, sharp as ice.

“I wasn’t the one fantasizing,” Adachi retorted, switching focus.

“Right, my mistake. You were too far above it all for that.”

“My point is,” Adachi said, “I know you. I know exactly what you are. We had the same options. Shackle ourselves to one of these goons—” He jerked his thumb at Naoto—“and pretend to be good, or let them lock us up—”

“—and pretend to be good.”

“ _And keep our dignity_. Maybe you can stomach being somebody’s plaything, but I can’t. Nobody gets to tell me what to do, or where to go, or who to be. Nobody. These fuckers—” Adachi gestured grandly behind him, at the door, at the guard beyond it—“think they have me over a barrel, but they don’t. _Yu-kun_ didn’t either.”

And neither, presumably, would Nyarlathotep. Akechi snapped his notebook shut.

“We’re finished,” he told Naoto.

Naoto blinked as if emerging from a fugue. “We are?”

“He’s got nothing for us.” Akechi stood up. “Thank you for your time, Adachi.”

“Get fucked,” Adachi drawled, slouching down.

Naoto was silent as they made their way back to the car. He was obviously wrestling with something, but Akechi didn’t ask. Not because he didn’t care—he did—but because a) he was busy compartmentalizing his own feelings and b) Naoto could be counted on to voice his concerns if and when he was ready.

Naoto buckled his seatbelt, stuck the key in the ignition, and said, “I let him get to me, didn’t I.”

“Yes.”

Naoto sat back, rubbed his face. “He’s just—he’s so—”

“He’s very good,” Akechi mused. “Skilled, I mean. I can see how he managed to become what he is.”

Naoto dropped his hands to his lap, sighed through his nose. At length, he said quietly, “Do you think he was telling the truth?”

“About Yu?”

“Yes.”

No, Akechi thought, but Naoto’s obvious discomfort gave him pause. He reviewed the evidence and reached the same conclusion his instincts had.

“No,” he said. “I think he believes what he said, but I don’t think it’s based in reality.”

“But—”

“I’m sure Yu was considerate,” Akechi added. “Friendly. He may even have thought they had a bond. But—and I’m not sure if you know this—Yu realized he loved Yosuke fairly early on in their relationship. He wouldn’t have jeopardized that for anyone.”

Naoto sagged with relief. “I didn’t know that,” he said. “You’re right. He wouldn’t have wanted to hurt Yosuke.”

Akechi did not point out that anything between Adachi and Yu would have been dubiously consensual at best. It would only upset Naoto more, and anyway, it wasn’t Akechi’s business. If Adachi had hurt or coerced Yu in some fashion, that was Yu’s story to share with whomever he trusted to hear it.

Naoto put the car into gear. “Let’s get you home.”

“You’re staying with Chie tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I’ll head back to Inaba in the morning.”

“There’s leftover curry at our place, if you’re interested,” Akechi said. “I’m sure Ren would be glad to see you.”

“Thank you, but that’s all right. I ate earlier. And I’m sure Chie will be anxious to hear what we found out.”

“Which was nothing.”

“Which,” Naoto sighed, “was nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this house we loathe and disrespect tohru adachi. dojima don't interact


	7. Take Tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** explicit sex (dom!ren, sub!akechi, biting, handjobs, edging, orgasm denial, anal fingering, blowjobs, anal sex, prostate play, aftercare)
> 
> [the sex is bracketed by horizontal lines; please feel free to skip it if it's not your thing!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Take your time, take control](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWBBNpS96AE) _
> 
> __
> 
> _[Take your heart, take your soul](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LWBBNpS96AE) _

Akechi and Naoto debriefed on the way back to the house. There wasn’t much to say. Adachi had never been a real suspect, but at least they could confirm he wasn’t working with Nyarlathotep. He wasn’t working with Sho, either, which didn’t rule Sho out. Basically, they were exactly where they’d started.

That explained the pit in Akechi’s stomach. Twenty people were dead, three of them at the hands of a horrific murderer, and they were no closer to finding the culprit. Of course Akechi was tired and faintly nauseous. Anyone would be.

It had nothing to do with Adachi.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to come in?” Akechi asked, pausing with his hand on the passenger door.

“Thank you,” Naoto said, smiling, “but no. Go inside. Try to relax.”

“Same to you. Drive carefully.”

Akechi tried the doorknob, nodded with satisfaction: Ren had locked it. He made sure to lock it behind himself.

“Papa?” Maya called. She poked her head out of the living room. “Hi!”

“Hello, Maya,” Akechi replied, toeing off his shoes. “What’re you up to?”

“Watching aikido,” she replied, holding up her tablet as evidence. “Teacher says it’s helpful to see the form.”

“I would imagine it is. How was class today?”

He was happy to give her his full attention, at least once he’d worked out where the rest of his family was. Morgana was snoozing on top of the cat tower, and meowed a hello when patted. The sound of splashing water in the bathroom indicated that Ren was giving Sai her bedtime bath. Maya sat down on the couch with Akechi, explaining—with video evidence—where she’d been flagging in aikido lately and how she planned to improve. In this, as in everything else, she was utterly devoted to Getting It Right. Akechi was amazed by the depth and breadth of her determination.

Eventually Ren appeared in the doorway, carrying a damp-haired, pink-cheeked Sai in duck pajamas. “Hey,” Ren said, smiling. “I thought I heard you come in.”

Then his eyebrows furrowed, a faint line of concern, and Akechi’s gut twisted. Did he really look that bad?

“He got back a little while ago,” Maya said. “I was showing him some aikido videos. It’s time for Sai to go to bed, though, right?”

“That’s right,” Akechi said. “We’ll be right back.”

“Papa,” Sai said, opening her arms, and he gathered her to his chest and kissed her cheek. She smelled fresh and clean and her head, when she rested it on his shoulder, was extra warm from the bathwater. Akechi stood there holding her for maybe half a second longer than was necessary, caught Ren’s eye, and led the way to her bedroom.

Sai was half-asleep by the time Akechi lowered her into her crib. He settled her blanket over her, tucked her hair back behind her ears, stepped aside so Ren could kiss his fingertips and brush them against her forehead.

“G’night,” she mumbled, curling up on her side.

“Good night,” they replied.

They waited, Akechi perched on the edge of her nightstand and Ren leaning on the crib rail, until her eyes closed and her breathing slowed. Akechi straightened up, but Ren didn’t.

“So,” Ren said, glancing at him.

“I’m all right.”

“Are you?”

Yes, he was. He was.

“Yes.” Akechi caught the flicker of doubt in Ren’s expression, sucked his bottom lip against his teeth. “I am. Adachi’s just a son of a bitch.”

Ren laughed softly. “He is that. Do you want to talk about it?”

Akechi meant to say no, but the word got tangled in his throat. Ren turned to face him, frowning, and Akechi managed, “Not—right now. Later.”

“Okay.”

Ren peered at Sai, making sure she was really asleep, and tipped his head toward the door. Akechi followed him out.

***

After they’d put Maya to bed (and after Morgana, at Ren’s request, had agreed to sleep in Maya’s room), Ren and Akechi queued up a bad movie. This was one of their favorite pastimes, turning on something terrible and mocking it mercilessly the whole way through. Akechi was especially cutting, while Ren, as ever, reserved his barbs for truly mind-boggling lapses, like the sudden appearance of dinosaurs halfway through a horror film. (True story.)

Tonight’s selection was ostensibly a thriller about a man rescuing his college-aged daughter’s best friend. Unfortunately, there was nothing thrilling about it. The protagonist defeated every enemy in two hits, both of the female characters were whimpering waifs, and the villain turned out to be—what a twist!—the best friend herself, who explained cheerfully that she’d been driven mad by her all-encompassing Feelings for her friend’s father. “Oh, _come on_ ,” Ren and Akechi exclaimed in unison.

Once the credits started rolling, Ren closed the browser window and shut the laptop. 

“Do you think anyone who worked on that movie is proud of it?” Akechi mused.

“I hope not.”

“Some of them must be. The director, definitely. He probably still bitches about it. ‘No one understood my vision, but—!’ ”

“ ‘It takes a true connoisseur to comprehend the _depth_ of the material,’ ” Ren said in a nasal whine. “ ‘It’s too subtle for most people.’ ”

Akechi laughed.

Ren leaned back and studied him. He was smiling, his arms folded and his legs crossed, still dressed in his slacks and button-down shirt. He’d undone the collar, at least, and Ren’s gaze lingered on the slender curve of his neck, the dip in the center of his collarbone. Despite the amusement still lighting his face, there were haggard lines around his eyes and the corners of his mouth that suggested he hadn’t entirely recovered from his conversation with Adachi.

“Tired?” Ren asked.

“Not yet,” Akechi replied. “You?”

Ren shook his head. “So…are you ready to talk about whatever Adachi said?”

Akechi tensed, inhaled, exhaled. “He didn’t say anything useful, if that’s what you mean. Sho hasn’t contacted him. He’s useless to us.”

“Square one, then.”

“Square one,” Akechi confirmed.

Ren reached over and pushed his thumb against the knotted muscle in the crook of Akechi’s neck. Akechi grunted, closed his eyes.

“Is that what this is, then?” Ren asked. “Stress about the case?”

He pushed harder, until the knot unraveled and Akechi sighed.

“He said I was like him,” Akechi said quietly.

Indignation sparked in Ren’s gut. “You’re not.”

“I know. But I wonder if I could have been, given enough time.”

“He killed people for fun. Because he was bored. You never did that.”

Akechi tilted his head to one side. “I wasn’t bored,” he said, “but it _was_ fun. I enjoyed it. If not for you, I might have carried on enjoying it.”

Ren could have argued with him. _You can’t know that_ , he could have said, or, _Of course you wouldn’t have_. But it wouldn’t change anything. They both knew it was impossible to guess what Akechi’s life might have been like if not for the Phantom Thieves; they knew it was pointless to suppose, to wallow in might-have-beens. That was what therapy was for, and presumably Akechi would bring it up at his next session and work through it there. If he wanted to bring Ren in on that work, he would; he’d done it before, with other topics.

What he needed tonight was a distraction.

“I want you,” Ren murmured, plush as velvet.

Akechi blinked, smirked at him. “ _Do_ you?” he said, eyes glittering like powdered glass.

“It’s been a while,” Ren said, as if he needed reminding.

Akechi uncrossed his legs, sat still as Ren ran his fingers up his thigh. “How do you want me?”

“On your back,” Ren said, pressing his nails against the fabric, into the flesh beneath. “Begging me to fuck you.”

Akechi’s breath caught. He tipped his chin down, searching Ren’s face. The scenario Ren was proposing wasn’t something they indulged in often, or lightly. Usually, they switched freely between dominant and submissive within the same session, each of them entirely in control even if they weren’t currently on top. Ren was suggesting—offering, really, since it wasn’t his favorite thing to do—that Akechi submit to him _completely_. That he let go, and let Ren carry him through to the end.

Every other time they’d done this, Akechi had asked for it. “I want you to ruin me,” he’d say simply. “Not hurt me, but…almost.” It wasn’t punishment, because Akechi enjoyed it; it was about giving up control, specifically to Ren, still the only person he trusted completely and unconditionally. However much Akechi cared for Ann or Yusuke or Naoto or Akihiko, he would have followed Ren into hell. Sometimes he wanted Ren to bring him to the edge and pull him back again. Just to remind him that he could.

“You have a filthy imagination,” Akechi breathed.

Ren smiled, smug, catlike. “You have no idea.”

Akechi got up.

“It’ll be an exercise in restraint,” he said thoughtfully, padding toward the hallway. “We’ll have to be exceedingly quiet.”

* * *

Ren followed him into their bedroom, shut the door, locked it. Akechi turned.

“Well? What would you have me do?”

“Sit down,” Ren said, nodding past him at the bed. His heart began to pound in his ears.

Akechi perched on the edge of the mattress. Ren crossed to him, cupped his face in his hands, trailed his thumb along his jaw.

“If you want me to stop,” he said, “say _Joker_.”

Akechi held his gaze, hands loose at his sides. “All right.”

Ren climbed into his lap, pressed flush against him, and caught his mouth in his own. Akechi released a shuddering breath, and Ren pushed the advantage, slipping his tongue past Akechi’s lips and twisting both hands into his hair. He tilted Akechi’s head back, kissing him hungrily, making a pleased noise when Akechi gripped his waist and grazed his teeth along Ren’s tongue.

Akechi pushed Ren's shirt up, splayed his fingers across his ribs, always so eager to touch him, to scratch him; Ren drew back with a wet sound and lifted his arms so Akechi could pull his shirt off and toss it aside. Akechi kissed his throat, his collarbone, bit down on one of his nipples. “Hah,” Ren gasped, arching his back, drawing his nails across Akechi’s shoulderblades through his shirt. Akechi hummed, sending an electric tingle through the sensitive nub in his mouth.

Ren pushed him backward far enough that he could kiss him again, fervent and messy, catching tongue and teeth as often as he caught lips. His fingers were quick and sure as they undid the buttons of Akechi’s shirt; he discarded it, squeezed Akechi’s shoulders and arms and the lean muscle of his abdomen, pressing here and there with his nails, drawing little growls from Akechi’s throat.

Neither of them was very hard yet, but as soon as Ren’s searching fingers found Akechi’s belt, he felt Akechi’s length stiffen against his thigh. He undid the buckle, uncoiled it and tossed it to the ground, lifted himself up so that Akechi could scoot backward and lean back on his elbows. Ren settled between Akechi’s open legs, watching him, watching his lips tremble and the color rise in his cheeks as Ren unzipped his pants, pulled them down, took off his socks while he was at it.

Ren didn’t look for the bulge, didn’t have to; he knew exactly where it was. He slipped his hand up the inside of Akechi’s thigh, into the leg of his boxers, and brushed his fingertips across the head of his cock. It jumped, and Akechi let out a shallow breath. Ren pressed a line of kisses from Akechi’s bellybutton to the elastic of his underwear, trailing his fingers lightly along his length, swiping away the first bead of precum with his thumb. Akechi made a strangled noise, bucking his hips.

Ren bit his stomach, hard enough to bruise, hard enough that Akechi had to cover his mouth to keep from crying out. Then Ren closed his mouth over the rising welt, suckling gently, lapping with his tongue. Akechi keened, arched his back. Ren bit him again, a little farther down, and gentled him once more with lips and tongue. This time Akechi managed to stay still, his free hand finding Ren’s scalp, tangling in his hair.

Ren caught the elastic of Akechi’s boxers between his teeth, hooked his fingers into it, swept it down. Akechi’s cock brushed his jawline as it sprang to attention, leaving a warm streak of wetness on his skin. He wiped his face with his wrist, discarded the boxers, curled his fingers around Akechi’s shaft. Akechi moaned.

Ren ran his hand up Akechi’s length, slicked his palm with the precum now coursing freely from the tip, stroked back down to the base. He was painstaking, steady, tracing the fluttering veins with his fingertips, skimming his thumb across the slit at the head every time he reached it. He kept his eyes trained on Akechi’s face, on the gleaming curve of his neck as his head fell back, on the way his hair fanned across the pillow.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Akechi panted. “Faster.”

Ren ignored him. Akechi’s hips bucked, and Ren stopped moving altogether, waiting. Akechi cursed again, sucked in a breath, held it. Ren resumed the same agonizingly slow rhythm.

For Ren, it felt like hours; he couldn’t imagine what it felt like for Akechi, quaking beneath him, fingers creaking in the duvet. Ren’s only concession to Akechi’s obvious distress was to move a _little_ rougher, to push his thumb a _little_ harder against the head of his dick, to occasionally twist his wrist or squeeze the base. He didn’t speed up. What he did do, when Akechi made a choked sound, was reach up and slide three fingers of his other hand into Akechi’s mouth, probing back to the opening of his throat, pressing down firmly on his tongue. Akechi coughed, whined, sucked on the digits, releasing the blanket to grip Ren’s wrist instead, the way a drowning man might grip a life preserver.

That seemed to tip the scales. Akechi’s breath turned harsh, ragged. His cock bobbed, quivered, and his abdomen compressed as tension began to build in his gut. His grasp on Ren’s wrist turned painful, his throat flexing around Ren’s fingertips, muffling his moans. Ren waited, waited, careful, careful—

And not a second too soon, let go of Akechi and withdrew his hand from his mouth. Akechi jerked upward as if suspended on a wire, biting down on the helpless cry that twisted his chest, his balls visibly contracting. But he didn’t come. He’d been right at the cusp of it, and Ren had left him high and dry.

Ren gave him a moment to calm down, to gulp enough oxygen to stop shaking, to press the heels of his hands against his forehead. Ren tore his gaze away from Akechi’s face long enough to remove his own pants and boxers, and closed his eyes as he wrapped his still-wet fingers around himself and pumped himself to his full length.

“Okay,” Akechi managed at last, swallowing hard. “Okay.”

Ren retrieved the lube from the nightstand and leaned over to kiss Akechi again. Akechi clutched Ren’s jaw, trying to angle himself so he could press hips to hips, thighs to thighs. Ren held himself just out of reach, sucking on Akechi’s lower lip until it swelled between his teeth. As he did so he opened the bottle, coated his fingers, pressed them to the tight ring of Akechi’s asshole. Akechi gusted out a sigh, hands dropping to Ren’s shoulders, digging in his nails as Ren pushed his fingers inside of him, one, two, three. He paused, savoring the raw heat, the clutch and shudder of his walls.

“You have to breathe,” he muttered into Akechi’s ear. Akechi laughed, a bit frantically, and then stifled a yelp as Ren withdrew his fingers and thrust them back in with a wet sucking sound that would have been horrifically unpleasant under different circumstances. But with Akechi making those _noises_ and clinging to Ren like Ren was prying him apart with a crowbar, the sound instead made Ren’s cock jump and throb. Ren bit Akechi’s earlobe, licked his neck, worked his fingers in again and again, building up speed. He deliberately avoided Akechi’s prostate, even though he could feel Akechi anticipating it, bracing for it. That would come later.

“Ren,” Akechi whispered. “ _Ren_ —”

Ren stopped, withdrew his fingers, slid down Akechi’s body, leaving gleaming marks on his skin as he went. By now, Akechi was positively weeping with precum. Ren drew him into his mouth. Akechi spasmed, barely managing not to buck his hips, barely managing not to howl; as it was, he grabbed one of the pillows and stuffed the corner between his teeth, biting down hard. Ren breathed through his nose as he pressed all the way down to the base, gagging only a little as the head of Akechi’s cock slid into his throat, lodged there. Akechi keened. Ren lifted his head slowly, licked his way down one side of Akechi’s shaft and up the other.

This time the tipping point came sooner. Ren was tonguing the head of Akechi’s cock when he recognized the signals, and immediately sat up. Akechi coiled in on himself, jaw clenching, shockwaves rolling from his curled toes to his flushed cheeks, damp with drool and sweat.

Ren retrieved another dollop of lube and stroked himself, watching Akechi come slowly back down from the near-high, watching the unrelieved tension settle across his skin like a chill.

“Put the pillow down,” Ren said, spreading Akechi’s legs.

Akechi did, and clapped his hand over his mouth instead, his knuckles white. He groped up with his other hand to grasp the back of Ren’s neck with shaking fingers. Ren rested his forehead on Akechi’s sternum, against the beating of his heart like a trapped bird, and thrust inside of him.

“ _Mh_ ,” Akechi squeaked, eyes rolling back, and then again: “ _mhh_ ,” as Ren found his rhythm. With Akechi’s stifled moans and the slap of their skin filling his ears, Ren adjusted his angle to grind against Akechi’s prostate. The first time, Akechi jerked like he’d been cut; the second time, he hooked his legs around Ren’s hips, digging his heels into his back; the third time, he made a sound of such profound, genuine anguish that Ren almost stopped, almost lost his nerve. But then Akechi tightened his grip on Ren’s neck, a single squeeze, and Ren hunched his shoulders and kept going. His throat felt raw, scalded; his thighs and stomach burned with exertion; the smell of smut and sweat tingled in his nose and the wet heat of Akechi’s skin slicked his mouth.

A familiar, heady, foreboding pleasure began to pool in Ren’s gut, in his groin, but he held himself back, gripped Akechi’s straining length, stroked him. _You first_ , _you first_ —

He registered the chatter of Goro’s teeth, the hollow keen underpinning every breath he took. Goro was crying, tears streaming down his face. Leaning up, Ren kissed his mouth, his cheek; pressed his lips to his ear.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. “Goro. It’s okay. Let go. Let go.”

“Ren,” Goro croaked, wrapping his arms around him. “I—”

“I’ve got you,” Ren said, sliding his own arms around Goro’s waist, half-lifting him off the bed, cradling him to his chest. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

“ _Ah_ ,” Goro cried, head snapping back as his body convulsed, as his cock shuddered against Ren’s stomach, as he came. “ _Ah_.”

“Yes,” Ren breathed, holding him tighter. “Yes.”

“Ren, please,” Goro whimpered. “ _Please_ please—”

Ren unraveled. He slammed into Goro up to the hilt as he came, their pelvises jarring together, biting down on Goro’s shoulder to muffle his groan. Goro dug his nails into Ren’s scalp, exhaled shakily. Together they rode through the shock, muscles straining as if to tear; and together they drifted slowly down, shoulders heaving.

* * *

Ren didn’t pull out right away. He leaned up on his elbows, wiping Goro’s face, kissing his eyelids and murmuring mostly nonsense, soft soothing sounds. Goro was still crying, still clinging to him.

“I love you,” Ren told him, struggling around a lump in his throat. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I love you,” Goro managed. “I’m sorry.”

“Shhh.” He nuzzled Goro’s jaw, kissed his throat. “Shh.”

Six months ago, after a night like this, Ren would have curled Akechi against him and gone to sleep. But now there were people relying on them, and they couldn’t be butt-ass naked if they had to leap out of bed to deal with a nightmare or some other childhood crisis. So he reluctantly disentangled himself, hoisted Akechi to his feet, and helped him into their bathroom.

The hot water in the Western-style shower seemed to bring Akechi back to himself. He let Ren scrub him down, and then washed Ren’s hair for him, firmly massaging his scalp. Then it was towels, and pajamas, and switching out the soiled duvet cover; and finally they sank into the mattress together, Ren’s arm under Akechi’s neck, Akechi’s breath soft and feathery against his cheek.

* * *

Ren wasn’t sure how much later he woke up. The room was dark, and heat was collecting in the pit of Ren’s stomach: he was aroused, and had no idea why. It took him a moment, through the haze of exhaustion and pleasure, to register that Akechi was awake, and stroking him.

“There you are,” Akechi purred, his smile glinting in the streetlight outside the window. “I thought I should return the favor.”

“Wasn’t a favor,” Ren managed, and shuddered, and gripped Akechi’s arm. “I’m close, close—”

Akechi clucked his tongue. “You never have any stamina in the morning,” he chided, and disappeared beneath the duvet.

Ren opened his mouth to protest, to point out that it wasn’t morning, but all that came out was a moan. Akechi’s slim, deft fingers lifted the elastic of Ren’s pants and boxers, and then Ren was inside Akechi’s mouth, wet and hot and perfect with the barest suggestion of teeth, of danger; and Akechi was swallowing around him, a painful press of heat that almost finished him off. Ren held his breath, willing himself to hold out, trying to savor it; but two laps in, he was done for. He clutched the back of Akechi’s head, pinning his nose to his pelvis, hips rocking upward as he came. White light exploded behind his eyes and showered sparks through his veins, into his fingertips and the tips of his ears. Dimly, through the ensuing numbness, he could feel Akechi swallowing again, drinking down what Ren had emptied into his throat.

* * *

Ren didn’t consciously let go of him; there was no more room in his brain for conscious thought. Akechi expertly fixed Ren’s clothes, stretched out beside him, rested his chin on Ren’s shoulder.

“Good?” he asked, and if Ren could have turned his head or opened his eyes, he would have seen Akechi grinning.

“Mm,” Ren sighed, fumbling for him, pulling him close.

Akechi laughed, settling against him. “Go to sleep.”

Ren didn’t hear him. He already had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything's gonna be fine.


	8. Cruel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6G6FQkPecM)
> 
> [_Everywhere I turn there seems to be another war_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6G6FQkPecM)
> 
> [
> 
> _We’ll come out of this, out of this_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o6G6FQkPecM)

The breakthrough in Maya and Ren’s relationship came just in time.

Not that there was a deadline, really. Maya could take, and would take, as long as she needed; Ren was, Akechi knew, nothing if not patient, and giving, and forgiving. Some fifteen years on, Akechi had spent a lot of time with a lot of people, and the only ones who came close to matching Ren’s apparently infinite capacity for love were Makoto Yuki and Yu Narukami. And even they—in Akechi’s admittedly biased opinion—paled in comparison.

Akechi and Ren had never doubted that when the time came, they’d finalize the adoption. They both loved the girls, and Sai loved them back, and Maya...at least trusted them. Love, from someone who had been so fundamentally betrayed by the other adults in her life, was a tall order after only a few months.

After, specifically, _six_ months. Toda-san had left a voicemail reminding them that as of October 10, they could file the paperwork to secure Maya and Sai’s place in their lives. There would be a visit from a court representative, and a final interview to make sure all was well; and then they’d be parents. Legally speaking.

First, though, they had to talk to Maya. They had no reason to think she wanted to go back to the institution, and Hinata, speaking in the vaguest possible terms to preserve Maya’s privacy, didn’t either. But they had to be sure. They didn’t want her to feel like she was trapped with them.

“We’ll talk to her about it tomorrow,” Akechi had said. “After school.”

Tomorrow was now today, but school hadn’t started yet. Outside, the wind whipped across the walls, throwing unseasonably icy rain against the windows. Morgana was eating his breakfast on top of the cat tower; Sai sat at the kitchen table, playing with her stuffed panda; and Maya, beside her, was huddled over a worksheet that she hadn’t finished the night before. (It wasn’t her fault: she’d had aikido, and then dinner, and her teacher had assigned so much that there was no way she could have gotten it all done before bed. Ren had insisted she leave off until the next morning at least.)

Breakfast was smoked fish, rice, nori, and eggs, which Akechi and Ren portioned out and brought to the table. Maya scribbled faster when Akechi set her bowl down.

“Maya,” said Akechi. “Leave it.”

“I have to finish this.”

“You have to eat first.”

“If I don’t finish—”

“I’ll call your teacher and tell her why,” Ren said. “She assigns you too much anyway.”

Maya looked up just in time to see him kiss the top of Sai’s head. This had become a regular occurrence at mealtimes; Sai’s food always arrived with affection in tow, typically kisses but sometimes hugs and raspberries too. It had never bothered Maya before. This time, when Sai smiled at Ren, Maya’s face tightened.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Maya asked.

Ren, taking his seat, blinked at her. “Doing what?”

“Maya,” Akechi said warningly.

“Kissing her like that.”

“To show her I love her.”

“But it’s _weird_ ,” Maya said, leaning forward. “You do it all the time. It’s like you can’t stop.”

“I don’t do it all the time,” Ren said. “But she likes it, and so do I.”

Maya’s eyes flashed, and Akechi knew at once she’d found her opening. Before he could intervene, she said, almost eager, “Yeah, well, it’s gross. You know what kinds of people like kissing little girls?”

Ren’s expression didn’t change, but his breath caught.

“ _Maya_ ,” Akechi snarled, setting down his bowl. “Apologize.”

Maya stiffened, her expression flickering in rapid succession: surprise-hurt-guilt-indignation. “I was just—”

“You were being cruel, on purpose. _Apologize_.”

She opened her mouth, closed it, stared at him. After a second, she looked down at her food. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, blushing.

“Thank you,” Ren said softly.

Silence descended, broken only by Sai cheerfully attempting to feed her panda some rice.

“Your homework,” Ren said.

Maya shook her head. “I’m not gonna finish it.”

“All right. I’ll go call Kamiya-san. Excuse me.”

He grabbed his phone, slipped from the room. Morgana caught Akechi’s eye, hopped down, and sidled after him as casually as a cat could.

Sighing, Akechi rocked back in his chair, pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you mad at me?” Maya asked.

The quaver in her voice punctured the balloon behind Akechi’s sternum. He exhaled, long and low.

“I am trying,” he said, “very hard not to be.”

Maya ducked her head.

It took a few moments for Akechi to trust himself not to snap. He rested his elbows on the table. “Maya.”

Maya didn’t move.

“If someone is doing something wrong, you should call them out,” Akechi said. “Always. But that’s not what happened here, is it?”

She frowned, turned her face away.

“Jealousy,” Akechi added, watching her hackles rise and then fall again, “is not an excuse to hurt someone. Do you understand?”

A pause. Then: “Yes.”

“Then that’s all we’ll say about it.” He picked up his chopsticks. “I’m not angry at you.”

“Anymore,” she said.

“Hm?”

“You’re not angry at me _anymore_ ,” Maya repeated, glancing at him. “But you were. Right?”

Akechi considered his options. _No, I wasn’t_ , he could say. _I misspoke._ Or, _I was, but I shouldn’t have been_. Both would have been lies. Which was worse: admitting you were angry or lying that you weren’t?

 _Talk through your feelings_ , his therapist had told him. _Vocalize them_. If you couldn’t explain how you felt to a child, _your_ child, then who could you explain it to? Obviously there were things children didn’t need to know, but when they were directly involved...was there a way to share it without making them responsible for it?

“I was,” Akechi said. “I...don’t like seeing Ren’s feelings get hurt. And...I know you can be kinder than that.”

Maya sniffed, rubbed her nose. “Yeah,” she muttered.

And that was that.

***

At least until later that night. Maya spent most of the afternoon and evening, dinner excepted, in her room, doing her homework. (Ren was going to have to have a serious talk with her teacher. Her workload was ridiculous.) This was fine, for a given value of fine, because it meant Ren could put off the conversation they had to have for a little while longer. He knew—and Akechi had assured, and Morgana had asserted—that Maya wanted to stay with them. Certainly she wanted to stay with Akechi. Rationally, reasonably, he also knew that she didn’t really believe what she’d said that morning: he’d upset her, probably made her jealous, and she’d lashed out because she didn’t know what else to do. She would learn, was already learning, to do better.

But some part of him—a moth beating its wings inside a tiny jar in his heart—was afraid. He was afraid, against all evidence to the contrary, that he had truly, genuinely not been good enough, and that she disliked or distrusted him enough to refuse to stay. That going back to the place she’d been would be preferable to being tethered to Ren for the rest of her life, or at least the rest of her childhood. Ninety percent of his brain knew that wasn’t true. The other ten percent...

The thought of losing them, of having to take them back to Toda, of breaking Sai’s heart and probably Maya’s too, made him sick. He’d been swallowing nausea all day, busying himself with housework and playing with Sai and avoiding Akechi and Morgana so they couldn’t try to talk him out of this totally irrational fear. Irrational, but painful and persistent.

He couldn’t avoid it forever, though. As soon as Sai was asleep, Akechi said, “Are you ready?”

His gaze was sharp, assessing. Ren nodded. “Of course.”

Akechi narrowed his eyes. “Really?”

No. “Yes,” Ren said firmly. “Let’s do this.”

Akechi didn’t believe him, but Ren didn’t give him the chance to say so. Instead, he turned on his heel and left the room.

Maya was waiting in the hallway, twisting her fingers together.

Ren stopped, blinked. “Maya.”

She looked at him, looked down at her toes, twisted those together too. “Can I, um,” she said. “Can I talk to. You. Just you. Um, Ren.”

Akechi touched the small of Ren’s back. Ren drew himself up, dipped into the reserve of calm always at his disposal.

“Sure,” he said.

“Alone,” Maya clarified, glancing at Akechi.

“I understand,” Akechi said. “I’ll give you a moment. In fact,” he said pointedly to Morgana, coming round the corner, “we both will.”

The cat squinted, perked his ears, allowed himself to be shepherded into the bedroom.

Ren followed Maya into the living room. She sat down on the couch, scooched back against the cushions, nodded at the space next to her. Ren perched there, resting his elbows on his knees.

“What did you want to talk about?”

She glared at the hem of her shirt, wrapping it tightly around her fingertips. Ren waited.

“Did I really hurt your feelings this morning?” she asked in a small voice.

Ren took a deep breath. “Yes.”

“Oh.” Maya’s mouth twisted. “I’m sorry.”

Ren’s instinct was to tell her it was okay, that he was okay, but it didn’t feel true yet. He didn’t want to lie.

“Thank you,” he said instead.

“I mean—it sounds—I _mean_ it,” Maya said. “I’m really sorry. I know you weren’t—I know you’re not like that.”

“Do you really?” Ren asked carefully. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll stop.”

“It doesn’t. I just—I—” She swallowed hard. “How come—how come you only do that with Sai?”

Ren stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“You know,” Maya snapped, and caught herself. “How come you never—hug me or kiss me like that?”

Ren didn’t let his jaw drop, but if he had, it would’ve hit the floor.

“I,” he said, stopped. His chest felt tight, his heart too big, straining against his ribs. “You asked me not to touch you.”

“ _Ages_ ago.”

“I didn’t want to upset you. I wanted you to feel safe.”

“You could’ve asked me,” she said, the words catching on something jagged in her throat. “If I wanted. Instead of just ignoring me.”

“I could have asked,” he admitted. “But so could you.”

“Well,” Maya said, clenching her fists in her lap, “I do want. I think it’s—mean that you always pay attention to Sai, and not to me. Like you don’t—like me.”

Ren’s heart broke, or burst, he couldn’t be sure, he didn’t have time to identify the exact cause of the wrench behind his sternum or the flood of affection that followed it. He hooked his arm around Maya’s shoulders, pulled her to his side, and kissed the top of her head, once, twice, three times.

“I like you,” he murmured into her hair. “I like you very much.”

For a moment, she didn’t seem to know what to do. She sat stiff and still, holding her breath, gritting her teeth. But as soon as Ren started to let go, she threw her arms around his waist, pressed her face into his ribs, and held on.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Ren gave her a squeeze, kissed her again. “We’re okay.”

When she finally pulled away, her cheeks were dry, but her eyes overbright. Ren tucked her hair behind her ears, smiling when she ducked her head, ticklish.

“Your papa and I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “Let me—Akechi?”

Ren heard the bedroom door open—no doubt he’d been waiting for his cue—and faint footfalls, growing louder. Presently, Akechi appeared in the doorway.

“Everything all right?”

Ren nodded, and tilted his head toward the spot beside him. Brightening, Akechi took it.

“It’s been six months,” Ren said, turning back to Maya, who was eyeing them both. “That means—”

“The probation’s over,” she said.

“Yes. And we want you to stay with us, forever.”

Maya sat up straight. She looked at Akechi, looked at Ren. “Really?”

“If you want to,” Akechi said.

“Sai too?”

Ren grinned. “Sai too.”

She lit up like sunlight on water, like a geode broken open. She was radiant; she _beamed_ , and it washed over Ren in a warm wave, leaving behind a lump in his throat and a burn in his eyes not at all unlike saltwater.

“Yes,” Maya said. “ _Yes_. Yes, yes.”

***

From then on, breakfast was delivered with affection for everyone: a headbutt for Morgana; a single kiss for Sai; two for Maya; and three for Akechi, all dropped light and sweet on top of their heads. Before long, both Sai and Maya accepted it without even glancing up, which was the best outcome Ren could’ve hoped for. He wanted them to take it for granted, wanted it to be an afterthought that he and Akechi loved them. So far, so good.

This particular morning, a chilly Sunday that had Ren wondering if he needed to break out the space heater early, Akechi’s phone buzzed almost as soon as they sat down at the chabudai.

“Sorry, everyone,” he said, tugging it out of his pocket. His expression changed. “Excuse me. Akechi here,” he said in an entirely different voice, standing up.

Ren watched him go, noting the hard line of his shoulders and the clench of his fingers on his phone. Morgana noted it too, sitting up on the cat tower with his ears perked.

“It’s cold outside,” Maya said, unconcerned. “Are we still gonna go to the park today?”

“Hmm, good question.” Ren gently corrected Sai’s grip on her chopsticks. “Do you want to go?”

“Mmhm,” Maya said around a mouthful of rice. “S’fun.”

“Then I’ll check with Ryuji. Today might be a good day to go shopping. We should get you a winter coat. Sai too.”

Sai brightened. “I wanna blue one.”

“Can we go to the bookstore after?” Maya asked.

Ren smiled. “Sure.”

“Ren,” said Akechi, returning to the doorway. “Could I speak to you a moment?”

Ren blinked as if he hadn’t been half-expecting this, as if the entire right side of his body hadn’t been tingling with anticipation for the past two minutes. “Sure. Maya, make sure Sai doesn’t get into trouble?”

“Okay,” Maya replied. Sai looked offended.

“I won’t,” she protested. Ren blew a raspberry on her cheek as he got up, and she subsided, giggling.

On Ren’s way out, Morgana leapt onto his shoulder, settling there like he’d never left.

Akechi led them into the bedroom, shut the door, and said, “Sho’s dead.”

Ren froze. Morgana gasped, “ _What_?”

Akechi’s lips were thin. “His body was found in a warehouse in Okina City this morning.”

“Tortured?” someone said, and with a start Ren realized it was him. “Like the others?”

“Yes.”

“But,” Morgana said, “why—”

“He was a Persona user. Why not?”

“He never fought Nyarlathotep.”

“That we know of,” Akechi replied, cool as silk. “Frankly, we don’t know if the other victims ever fought Nyarlathotep either. We only suspect they did. So I say again: why not Sho?”

Ren’s whirling brain flipped a card. “Has anyone told Yu?”

“No,” Akechi said, fixing him with a forbidding stare, “and you’re not allowed to.”

Ren frowned, straightened up, but Akechi shook his head. “The only way you could talk to Yu is by phone, and we can’t be certain our conversations aren’t being monitored. In fact—” He grinned, bright and bitter, spread his hands—“we can’t be certain _this_ conversation isn’t being monitored, right now.”

“Someone needs to tell him. He deserves to know—”

“They weren’t friends, Ren, whatever Yu might have thought. Sho threatened to kill him if they met again.”

“He wasn’t serious.”

“It doesn’t matter. _They weren’t friends_. We don’t need to give this person any reason to think they were.”

In other words: they didn’t need to give the killer a reason to target Yu next. Ren’s stomach clenched.

“I’m going to Inaba,” Akechi said. “Chie will be here in—” He glanced at his phone—“twenty minutes with the car. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Morgana asked.

“They need me there, Morgana.”

You want to be there, Ren could have said. Not an accusation; simply the truth. Something terrible was approaching, and Akechi wanted to be at the prow of the ship when it arrived. Ren wanted that too: he wanted to face this head-on, shoulder to shoulder, like they always had before. But it wasn’t only them anymore. They had to think about the girls.

“Do they?” Morgana said doubtfully, and Ren felt a rush of gratitude. “I mean, Naoto and them are just as good as you, right? What can you see that they can’t?”

Akechi would not look at Ren. “This is the first fresh, undisturbed crime scene we have. Sho died six hours ago. The killer could still be in Okina; we could find him and stop this _today_.”

“But if we’re dealing with Nyarlathotep,” Morgana countered, “this person’s probably teleporting or something, right? No way he’s anywhere near Sho anymore. And if his Persona can destroy evidence, like Naoto says—”

“I have to go.”

“You can’t protect us from there,” Ren said quietly.

Akechi bristled, met his gaze. “I can,” he snapped, eyes glittering, fists clenched. “If I catch him now—”

“Morgana’s right. He won’t be there. He’ll have gone back to his hidey hole.”

“ _Unless_ ,” Morgana said, “it’s a trap.”

Akechi scoffed. “Why would—”

Morgana’s hackles rose. “Uh, hello? Nyarlathotep was obsessed with you, remember? If he’s back—”

“He’s not back. I would know.”

“How?” Morgana demanded. “With your tentacle senses? You have to think about this! If it’s a trap, and you go—we still haven’t heard anything from Igor! You’ve got no powers! How’re you supposed to defend yourself?”

“You could say the same thing about Naoto,” Akechi growled. “Or Akihiko, or Chie. Why should they walk in there defenseless, and not me? And _don’t_ say it’s because I have children. Akihiko and Naoto do too; their sons are just as important as—”

“I’ll go,” Ren said, stepping forward. “I’ll—”

“ _No_.”

“Morgana’s right,” Ren said. “If this killer is working for Nyarlathotep, you’re his prime target.”

“ _Exactly_ ,” Akechi snarled. In a former life, he might have advanced on Ren until they were nose-to-nose, forehead-to-forehead; but they were well past such things, so he stood there, wound tight as a noose. “Exactly. Because _I_ refused him. _I_ helped destroy him.”

Ren caught his breath. “This isn’t happening because of—”

“You don’t know that,” Akechi retorted. “But that’s not even the point. You can’t go. You can’t get anywhere near this. I’m his target, I’m his enemy—you think I should hide while _you, my husband_ , walk into the trap he’s set for me?”

Morgana sagged. “Akechi...”

“Wouldn’t that be a treat,” Akechi said, voice cracking, pitching high and distorted. “Two for the price of one. Because you know, _you know_ , that the moment he had you, I would come after you. It wouldn’t even be a choice. And then we’d both be captured, or worse, and Maya and Sai would be alone.”

All the blood seemed to drain from Ren’s body.

Sixteen years. They’d been granted sixteen difficult, worthwhile, happy, ordinary years. No eldritch horrors, no world-shattering epiphanies, no apocalyptic deadlines. Just school, and work, and food, and bad movies, and waking up in the middle of the night to snuggle closer to the solid warmth that was always there, even when it wasn’t. They’d experienced more pain than they deserved, but in return they’d earned more love and hope than most people got in their entire lives. Did that mean they were due? Was it time for the universe to collect?

Why was it always them?

“You have to be so careful,” Ren whispered.

Morgana rubbed his cheek against Ren’s, and jumped down to the floor.

“I will,” Akechi said. “I promise.”

And he held out his hand. Somehow, Ren managed to take it, even though his arms were filled with lead; and when Akechi pulled him he came, pressing his face into the crook of Akechi’s neck, locking his arms around his waist. They’d grown apart physically over the years, Akechi remaining lean and slender while Ren filled out to what could reasonably be called muscular, but they still fitted together as closely as ever. As always.

And just like that, the ferocious resolve bloomed within him, blazing through the fear like so much gasoline.

“If you don’t come back,” he said, “I’m coming to find you.”

Akechi laughed into his ear. “I’m counting on it.”

Ren squeezed him tight, stepped back.

“We need to tell Maya where you’re going,” he said. Akechi tensed, opened his mouth to argue, but Ren cut him off: “It’ll be worse if something happens and she didn’t know.”

Akechi sighed and shut his eyes. “Yes. All right.”

It went about as well as could be expected, which was to say: not well. Maya was suspicious from jump; she always was, when they started a conversation with “We need to talk to you.” Sai listened too, sitting in Ren’s lap, but he wasn’t sure how much she understood.

“But why Inaba?” Maya insisted. “Nothing ever happens there.”

According to Kano, Ren thought; he would’ve been shocked to hear his parents’ stories. Ren said, “You remember Akechi’s birthday party? There was a man there named Yu Narukami.”

Maya nodded.

“A friend of his,” Ren said, “was murdered last night.”

Her eyes widened. Akechi threw Ren a disapproving look, but Ren continued, “That’s why Akechi has to go. He has to try to figure out who killed him.”

“And that’s why I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Akechi said, apparently resigning himself to this line of conversation.

Maya glared down at her fisted hands, flexed them, turned them over palms-up. “Is it dangerous?”

This time Akechi and Ren looked at each other before answering.

“It could be,” Akechi said. Maya hunched her shoulders. “If we find the killer, that is. They’re a dangerous person. But I won’t be alone, and I know how to fight.”

“And if anything happens to him,” Ren said, “I’ll get him back.”

He didn’t entirely know what he meant by that, except that it was true. Whatever Ren had to do, wherever he had to go, he would always, always get Akechi back. And Maya, lifting her head, her face alight, believed him.

“Good,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phase 2 :: start


	9. Willow Tree March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** persona 4 spoilers, blood, violence, gore, graphic torture, **temporary character death**
> 
> [the torture is bracketed by horizontal lines; please feel free to skip it if it’s too intense!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [__](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yaVtsPIVVM)
> 
> [_And we all still die_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yaVtsPIVVM)
> 
> [ _Oh, we all still die_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8yaVtsPIVVM)

[CHATLOG. Ryuji to Ren, 11/6/XX, 9:22AM]

 **Ryuji** Oof, yeah, it’s pretty cold out.  
**Ryuji** Let’s take a rain check?  
**Ryuji** Weather’s supposed to be better on Tuesday. We could go then?

 **Ren** Sure, that sounds fine.

 **Ryuji** Cool!  
**Ryuji** Any word from the family court yet??

 **Ren** Not yet.  
**Ren** I’ll call you later, okay?

 **Ryuji** Sounds good, man

That decided that, then. No park today. Probably, no anywhere today. Going shopping with every hair on his body standing on end didn’t appeal to Ren, and he doubted it would appeal to Maya or Sai, either. As soon as Akechi left, Maya had curled up on the couch, staring blankly at her tablet. Sai had gone subdued and quiet too, barely reacting even when Morgana sprawled across her lap and allowed himself to be petted.

At first, Ren was at a loss. He didn’t want to pretend everything was okay, because it wasn’t, but he also knew he couldn’t let his daughters wallow in uncertainty. How could he distract them?

A lightbulb went on.

In his bedroom closet, on the topmost shelf, was a locked case. Ren took it down, fished the key out of his sock drawer, and opened it. Paradise Lost gleamed at him like an old friend’s smile. He picked it up, surprised by its lightness (it had always been heavier in the Metaverse), and ran his thumb along the dull edge, the rounded point. Perfectly safe. Safe, and edgy as hell, with its death’s head grip and the molded spine set against the blade. What a little goon he’d been, thinking this was the epitome of cool.

Ren carried it out to the living room. “Maya,” he said. “Look at this.”

She looked, and her jaw dropped. “ _Whoa_ ,” she breathed, scrambling off the couch. “What is that?”

“I was pretty big into model weapons when I was a teenager,” Ren said, turning the dagger over in his hands. Sai got up and came to see too, her mouth forming a perfect O. “Guns, knives, the whole bit. This is the only one I held onto.”

“So it’s not real?” Maya asked, peering at it. “But it looks...”

“Pretty neat, right? Totally harmless, though.” Ren drummed his fingers against the edge. “See?”

He flipped the hilt back into his palm, scythed the blade through the air. Sai and Maya squeaked with delight and awe, respectively.

“I thought,” Ren said, “we could practice aikido.”

Maya blinked, and beamed.

***

Dojima was the detective assigned to the case. He greeted Naoto as warmly as he greeted anyone, with a firm handshake, and said, “Nice to see you. Wish it was under different circumstances.”

“You and me both,” Naoto replied. “What are we dealing with?”

Dojima took a deep breath. Not a good sign. If _he_ was rattled, it must have been a grisly picture.

“The warehouse is owned by a local shipping company,” he said, nodding at the squat grey building behind him. Yellow police tape flapped in the brisk wind. “It’s used regularly. A couple of employees actually called this in. The body’s in an empty storage room, but they smelled it from the hallway.”

“Were the doors locked?”

“Yeah. All of them: the exterior ones and the ones to each of the storage rooms. None of them were forced; none of the windows are broken. The killer might as well’ve walked through the wall.”

Naoto looked up and down the street. This part of Okina City was given over almost entirely to warehouses and storage units like this one. The police had cordoned off the block, but hardly anyone seemed to have noticed; passersby were few and far between, cars even fewer and farther. In fact, the cops milling around the area accounted for most of the activity.

“It’s a quiet part of town,” they said. “I don’t suppose anyone heard anything?”

“Nope. Nobody was around that late. We think he died at about 3AM.” Dojima jerked his head toward the door. “You want to take a look?”

The smell hit them like a truck as soon as they crossed the threshold. It wasn’t rot or decay, not yet; the air was too cold for that. It was blood, and feces, and human suffering—which did indeed have a smell, thick and bitter and nauseating, coating the inside of Naoto’s nostrils like oil. The farther down the hallway they went, the worse the stench became, until Naoto’s throat was tight and their stomach churning.

“Nothing’s been moved,” Dojima said, pausing at the end of the hall. “I figured you’d want to see the whole picture.”

“Yes,” Naoto managed, coughing, grimacing at the taste of mucus. “Thank you.”

Dojima shook his sleeve down, covered his mouth, and opened the door.

In some ways, the tableau beyond mirrored Katsuya Suou’s. Front and center, chained by his wrists to a pipe on the far wall, was Sho Minazuki, identifiable by his bright red hair and the twin scars across his face. But those were the only recognizable features. He’d been beaten badly, his head, throat, and shoulders flogged into a riot of blacks, purples, and blues. In some places, he’d swollen so much that his skin had split. What had he said or done to warrant this level of violence?

Looking at him, Naoto wasn’t sure if he’d died of brain damage or blood loss. And there had been significant blood loss. Like Suou before him, Sho’s jaw, chest, and arms were marked by long, fine cuts. And like Suou and Silverman before him, his body was surrounded by shapes painted onto the floor. But this time, the murderer hadn’t covered up his handiwork. Quite the contrary. All around Sho, fanning outward in expanding arcs, were words, splashed in great, thick, shining ribbons across the gray concrete.

Some of them were in English: _Crawling Chaos; God of Chaos; Nyarlathotep_. Some were in Japanese: _I offer this soul to you. I offer my soul to you. I promise to serve you_. Others were illegible, not because they’d been written poorly (which they had; writing with blood was apparently harder than it seemed) but because they were in languages Naoto didn’t recognize or understand. They grew sloppier and more haphazard the farther away from Sho they got, as if the killer had gotten increasingly frustrated. Maybe Sho had been taunting him, and he’d finally lost his temper. Or maybe—

The stink was filling Naoto’s brain with fog. Swallowing hard, they said, “That’s enough for now. I think I’d better wait for Akechi and Chie to get here.”

Dojima nodded and closed the door behind them.

It took about an hour and a half for Chie and Akechi to arrive. Naoto leaned against Dojima’s nondescript sedan while they waited, gratefully accepting a bottle of water but declining coffee. They didn’t think their stomach could handle it. They didn’t try to maintain a conversation, and Dojima didn’t push. Naoto was grateful. Their mind was too much of a whirlwind to make small talk at the moment.

Finally, finally, Naoto’s phone buzzed with a message from Akechi: _Turning down your street now_.

Naoto showed it to Dojima, who called, “Let that next car in, guys!”

A couple of officers drew aside the barriers so Chie could park against the curb. She offered Naoto a thin smile as she took her keys out of the ignition.

“Hey,” she said, slamming the car door behind her. “We came as fast as we could.”

“I don’t mind waiting. It’s good to see you. And you,” they added, nodding at Akechi as he stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Have you been inside already?” Akechi asked, tugging on a pair of black leather gloves.

“Only for a minute,” Naoto replied. “I wanted to wait for you two. Akihiko’s on his way, but it’s a long trip. We’ll have to start without him.”

Dojima gestured toward the front door. “Go on in. I’ll keep things quiet out here.”

Naoto breathed carefully through their mouth as they headed back inside. Chie covered her nose, coughing, and Akechi made a face.

“I’m afraid it gets worse,” Naoto murmured. “Hang in there.”

They led the way to the room, opened the door, went inside.

“Yikes,” Chie breathed.

Akechi frowned. The three of them spread out, Akechi to the left, Chie to the right, and Naoto down the center. Akechi picked his way across the floor to Sho and crouched down to examine him.

“Why was he beaten so badly?” he muttered, touching Sho’s chin, tilting his head up to examine his split lips.

“I wondered if Sho goaded the killer into it,” Naoto said. “If he kept taunting them until they snapped. Or perhaps they had to beat him this much just to get him to submit.”

Akechi clucked his tongue. “That seems unlikely. Uesugi and Suou didn’t struggle; the killer was able to subdue them somehow. Why not do the same with Sho?”

“Why not do the same with Silverman?”

Akechi nodded, conceding the point.

“This writing,” Chie said. They both turned to her. “It’s _all_ about Nyarlathotep. It almost sounds like a ritual. _I promise to serve you_ —like they’re offering to be his champion.”

“I’m sure it is a ritual,” said Akechi, straightening up. “They’re trying to summon him. That’s what they’ve been doing all along.”

Naoto, who had suspected the same thing, still felt their mouth run dry at the thought.

“Then why hasn’t it worked?” Chie asked, scanning the increasingly frenzied script. “He’s done this four times. And—look at this!”

She strode across the ground, pointed at the outermost ring of characters. Akechi and Naoto joined her. In huge, shaky scrawl, the murderer had written: _WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO? TELL ME WHAT TO DO._

“So,” said Akechi. “It’s not that the ritual _has_ to be completed multiple times. It’s that it keeps failing, so the killer keeps trying.”

“Maybe that explains Sho’s condition,” said Naoto. “Perhaps the killer became frustrated that the ritual wasn’t working, and took it out on Sho.”

“But why?” Chie asked, dragging her hand across her scalp. “I mean, I’m glad it hasn’t worked, obviously, but—”

“Hey,” said a masculine voice.

Naoto stiffened, spun around. “Yu.”

He was standing in the doorway, lips pursed and face drawn, studying the carnage. When his gaze finally settled on Sho, he slumped.

“I was sort of hoping,” Yu murmured, “that it wasn’t true.”

“But,” Naoto said, “how did you know—?”

“Ren told you,” said Akechi, accusingly.

Yu shrugged one shoulder. _Guilty as charged_. “I brought someone with me,” he said, and turned.

It was Marie. She looked…furious. Powerful. _Old_. She was every inch a goddess, her hair flying and her eyes smoldering as she brushed past Yu and charged into the center of the room. Her shoes—sensible flats; she was much less into platform heels these days—squelched in the half-dried gore. She stopped, pivoted slowly to take in the scene. Even from five feet away, she radiated an almost palpable rage, a ghostly heat. Naoto recoiled from it, and Chie too; Akechi alone stood still.

“How,” Marie snarled, “did this _happen_.”

“If we knew, we would have stopped it,” Akechi remarked. He was tapping rapidly on his phone, probably scolding Ren for alerting Yu.

Marie whirled, a phantom junihitoe flaring around her wrists and ankles. “This is _my place_ ,” she said. “ _Mine_. How dare this person kill someone on my soil? How dare they do it under my nose?”

“How _did_ they do it under your nose?” Naoto asked, carefully.

“I don’t know,” Marie said. “It shouldn’t’ve been possible. I sense every single human that passes through here, no matter who they are, no matter how long they hang around. I should’ve sensed this.”

“Have you heard from—”

“Igor? Margaret?” she said, barking a laugh. “No. I can’t get into the Velvet Room, either.”

Akechi’s head snapped up. “ _Can’t_? What do you mean?”

“I mean, the door’s gone. It’s like I’ve been fired.” Marie shook her head, glared at the body, the blood. “I don’t understand.”

“Let’s talk about this outside,” Yu said. He looked grey. “Away from…”

“Good idea,” Chie said.

Marie led the way, her chin held high. Dojima waved vaguely at them when they emerged.

“All right,” Naoto said. “What do we know?”

“Our killer,” said Akechi, thrusting his phone back into his pocket, “is attempting to summon Nyarlathotep. He’s using the blood of Persona users to complete the ritual.”

“We’ve been cut off from the Velvet Room,” Yu added. Marie looked away. “Which probably means Igor and the attendants don’t know what’s going on.”

“And this person,” Marie growled, “is able to do what they’re doing without me knowing, either.”

“Can you tell if they’re still in Inaba?” Akechi asked. “Can you sense anything?”

“No,” Marie replied. “Nothing.”

“The killer has attempted this four times,” Naoto said. “In slightly different circumstances, with different victims. Every time, it’s failed—at least, as far as we know.”

“It must’ve failed,” Chie said. “Otherwise, why would they keep doing it?”

“Then the question is, why hasn’t it worked?”

“Do you know anything about this ritual?” Akechi asked Marie. “How it works, exactly?”

Marie squinted at him, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Presently she turned and walked away. Chie started to call after her, but Yu motioned for silence.

For a while, Marie stood staring down the street, toward the hills that ringed the edge of the city. She drummed her fingers on her arm.

“All of the victims were Persona users,” Marie said at last. “Right?”

“Yes,” Naoto said.

“That’s gotta have something to do with it.” She sighed. “The only thing I can think of is…d’you guys even know why you can use Personas? How it happens?”

She looked around at them, registered their blank expressions.

“Ugh. Okay. So—there’s this—place—called the Sea of Souls. It’s basically the afterlife. Anytime somebody new is born, their soul comes from there, and when they die, it goes back.” Marie glanced at Yu. “Most people live their whole lives without ever realizing that the Sea of Souls exists. But some people—the ones with _potential_ —can tap into it. They can call on souls like their own and use them in battle. A few can even call on multiple souls at once.”

“Wild Cards,” Yu supplied.

“Yeah. Because you guys—” She gestured vaguely at him. “Your souls are…anyway. I don’t know where Nyarlathotep goes when he’s banished from this reality. But if he’s in the Sea of Souls, or he has access to it, then using the blood of Persona users to get his attention isn’t the worst idea. Your blood can open the door.”

Naoto’s throat constricted.

“But then,” Chie said, “why does it keep failing?”

Marie shrugged. “No idea. Maybe he hasn’t used enough blood? I mean…there’s…only so much blood in a single person, right?”

“ _Or_ ,” Akechi said, turning a fierce stare on Yu, “the blood he’s been using isn’t powerful enough.”

It took a moment for everyone to make sense of this. Naoto got there first.

“You shouldn’t be here,” they told Yu, with mounting panic. “If he’s watching—”

Yu coughed a laugh. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be,” Akechi muttered.

“You’re in danger,” Chie said, catching on. “All of the Wild Cards are in danger. We—” She grabbed her phone, cursed. “I can’t even call—Akihiko shouldn’t be coming here, he should be guarding Makoto and Aigis—”

“Call them,” Naoto said. “They need to know as soon as possible.”

“You shouldn’t be here either,” Chie said to Akechi, who scowled. “You’re a Wild Card too!”

“I never manifested the ability,” he replied coolly. “I’m sure I’m perfectly safe.”

“For a given value of safe,” said Yu, “considering you’re still a Persona user.”

“Well, I _was_. Technically we all were. But if the Velvet Room is closed—” Akechi tipped his head toward Marie—“we aren’t anymore.”

“That’s not how it works,” she countered. “You still have the power. You just can’t access it.”

“Ah, wonderful. Thank you for making that important distinction.”

“We don’t have time for this,” Chie snapped. “We have to figure out—we have to get you all passports, we have to get you away—”

“I,” Yu said. “Am not. Leaving.”

“Besides,” Marie said, “what makes you think you can hide them? This guy found Sho Minazuki, wherever he was. They brought him here, tortured him, and killed him without tipping me off. No matter where you send the Wild Cards, if they want to find them, they will. You’ll just have to be ready for them when they do.”

“Again,” Akechi said, “how exactly are we supposed to protect ourselves without Personas?”

“I don’t know! You have guns, you have knives; figure it out!”

“Guns and knives against a Persona user, in real life. Sounds like an excellent strategy.”

“Look, wise guy, I don’t know what do to either!”

Someone’s phone started buzzing. Frowning, Akechi took his out of his pocket.

“Sojiro,” he muttered, and stepped away. “Akechi here.”

“We could at least move everyone,” Chie said. “Set up a safehouse somewhere the killer wouldn’t think to look—”

“Put all the Wild Cards in one place?” Marie said. “They’ll be sitting ducks.”

“I don’t hear you offering any suggestions!”

Yu was watching Akechi, his eyebrows furrowed. Naoto followed his gaze, noted the straight, sharp line of Akechi’s back, the way his knuckles had whitened against his phone—

“I’ll take care of it,” Akechi said, and hung up.

“What happened?” Yu asked.

Akechi turned around. His eyes were strange. Venomous. “He’s got Ren,” he said.

***

Maya wasn’t quite up for proper sparring yet, but that wasn’t what Ren wanted to do anyway. He wanted, instead, to give her a sense of what fighting was _actually_ like. Elements of aikido were useful for real combat, but he doubted that she was being taught which ones.

“Okay,” he said. They were standing in the backyard, a few feet apart. Sai, ostensibly playing on the patio, watched them with a huge smile. Morgana lay beside her, tail bundled up around his paws. “I’m not going to stick to form, but you can, if you want to. I want you to disarm me.”

Maya nodded, angling her shoulders and hips perpendicular to him, her arms loose and straight at her sides. Ren spread his feet, curled forward, brandished his dagger. It had been a long time, and the Metaverse couldn’t grease the wheels anymore; but his muscles, kept strong by jogging and weightlifting, fell easily enough into the old patterns.

When he lunged, pushing off on his left foot to close the distance between them, Maya didn’t even think about reacting until Paradise Lost tapped the side of her neck.

“Again,” he said, backing up.

Maya took a deep breath, let it out, _fwoo_.

Same result.

“You’re so fast,” she said, half annoyed, half impressed.

Ren smiled and fell back. “Watch me, not the knife.”

This time she dodged the first strike, but as she darted forward for a disarm, he swung around and tapped her ribs.

“Again.”

So it went. Ren moved, Maya reacted, never in time. To her credit, she stayed calm. The only things flickering in her eyes were determination and a keen insight. She was learning. He knew how much she liked to learn, was happy to indulge her.

The sun came out while they worked, throwing warm, golden light onto the grass. It alleviated some of Ren's guilt over bringing Sai outside, even though she sat enraptured, her toys completely forgotten.

“Okay,” Ren said eventually. Maya was flushed, panting, but he’d barely broken a sweat. “One more, and then we’ll—”

“I don’t want to stop,” Maya said.

“—take a break,” Ren revised. “You need water.”

Maya nodded grudgingly, took up position. Ren shifted his weight from one foot to the other, sped forward, drove the dagger in toward her stomach—

Her left hand snapped up, striking his wrist, knocking Paradise Lost from his grasp; she slammed the heel of her right hand into his chin, throwing his head back and arcing his spine so that he sprawled onto the ground. All the breath left his lungs, _whoosh_.

“Yaaaaay!” Sai cheered, clapping her hands.

“ _Nice_!” Morgana crowed.

Ren laid there, chest heaving, cataloguing hurts. His jaw, where his teeth had jarred together; his butt, back, and head where they’d hit the dirt; his wrist, a bit, where Maya had struck it. But it was good pain, clean pain, the kind that meant she’d done everything right. His heart felt too big for his chest. _She’d done everything right_.

He sat up. Maya stood a safe distance away, watching him warily, holding the knife.

“That,” Ren said, “was _perfect_.”

She lit up. “Really?”

“Yes,” he said, springing to his feet, hooking his arm around her neck and ruffling her hair. “Absolutely perfect. Ten out of ten.”

Maya laughed and pushed him off. “Teacher would’ve wanted me to try to pin you,” she said. “But...”

“I’m bigger and stronger than you,” Ren supplied. “You were right. Better to knock me down and book it. And get the knife—always get the knife.”

Maya flipped the dagger around and offered it to him, hilt first. As he reached for it, the doorbell echoed inside the house.

Ren frowned over his shoulder.

“Hm,” he said, checking his phone. One new message from Akechi, fussing about Yu, but nothing else of interest. Maybe it was the family court rep? They weren’t supposed to show up unannounced, but...wasn’t that exactly the sort of thing they’d lie about, to catch you off your guard? “Can you help Sai bring her toys inside? I’ll go answer the door.”

“Kay. C’mon, Sai,” Maya said, tucking Paradise Lost under her arm. Ren dropped a kiss on top of her head and a pat on Sai’s as he passed.

He didn’t realize anything was wrong until he’d already opened the door.

The man standing there was squat, his shoulders bunched up around his ears like he'd spent his life being yelled at. He had a strange, bulbous, almost two-dimensional face: flat nose, squashy lips, fleshy cheeks that extended outward but not forward. And his eyes...if Ren hadn't already suspected something was up, he knew it for sure the moment he met the man’s eyes. They were grey, and dull, and fathomless.

“Ren Amamiya?” the man said, and when he grinned his skin wrinkled like clay.

What could Ren do?

Could he run? Run where? Into the backyard, grab the girls, help Maya over the fence and follow with Sai? No. Ren knew what this man had done to Lisa Silverman; he was supernaturally fast. Better to keep him away from the kids. Could he fight? With what? He still couldn’t access his Personas. Akechi had taken his gun with him, and even if he hadn’t, it would’ve been locked in the safe in their closet, away from Maya and Sai but also useless to Ren, in this moment. He could maybe have jabbed the man in the eye with Paradise Lost, but Maya still had it.

That left fists and knees and feet, fairly formidable at the worst of times. He shifted, started to—

 _And there was the knife_ , resting almost gently against his navel.

“I wouldn’t do that,” said the man, “if I were you.”

“You won’t kill me,” Ren said. “You need me.”

“I need your blood,” the man countered, pressing forward, and ice water crashed across Ren’s shoulders as the blade cut through his shirt, settled against his skin with deadly promise. “I don’t need _you_.”

Ren ran the numbers again, clenched his fists, and the man added, “You don’t want them to have to see this, do you?”

And he leaned his unpleasant head sideways, nodding at something over Ren’s shoulder. Ren looked around.

“Dad?” Maya said softly. She was standing in the hallway, half in shadow, her fingers tight on Sai’s shoulder. Morgana, curled around her shins, growled low in his throat, slitted pupils fixed on the man outside.

Ren sagged. The man cackled. “That’s right,” he said, voice thick with glee. “Tell her it’s gonna be okay. Lie to her.”

Ren bristled, shot him a look that could have liquefied concrete. “Morgana,” he said. “Get them out of here.”

“What?” Maya said.

“I’m not leaving you!” Morgana spat.

“What’s going on?” Maya demanded, pulling Sai close, wrapping an arm around her. Sai clung to her, fists tight in her shirt. “Who is that?”

“Mitsuo Kubo,” said the man, with a shallow, mocking curtsey. The knife was steady and still against Ren’s stomach. “Kubo-kun to you, sweetness.”

“Don’t call her that,” Ren barked. Kubo leered. “Morgana!”

“What are you gonna do?” Morgana yowled. “You can’t fight him—”

“That’s right, kitty-kitty,” Kubo said. “He can’t.”

Of course he could understand Morgana. If he could use a Persona, then he’d been to the Metaverse. Ren wanted to hit Kubo, wanted to sweep Maya and Sai into his arms and run, wanted to lock eyes with Morgana so he could see he was serious. But he couldn’t move. Not if it gave Kubo an excuse to unzip him, stem to stern, and traumatize his children.

“ _Morgana_ ,” said Ren, with every inch of Joker’s steel. “Get them _out_ of here.”

Morgana hissed. “Damn it, damn it—fine—Maya, come on!”

“Follow Morgana, Maya,” Ren said, glowering at Kubo, resting his hand on the doorjamb to block his view.

He could imagine the look on her face: baffled, furious, scared. Emotions he’d never wanted her to feel again. “Wh—but—!”

“Trust me,” Ren said. “Please.”

He heard her gasp, slightly shaky. Then, finally, he heard her footsteps receding, tugging Sai along.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kubo said. “We’re not staying.”

Something struck Ren’s temple, and his vision went black.

***

Chie drove. She had a siren, which was lucky, because she was definitely over the speed limit and careening wildly between lanes to avoid the slower traffic. They’d already had several close calls that left Naoto cursing under their breath.

Akechi didn’t care. His lips and fingers were numb, his stomach churning, but his brain clear and cold, like an icy cavern. In his ear, Futaba was fighting to hack into Ren’s phone.

“It’s my own encryption, you’d think I’d know how to break it—fuck fuck _fuck_ , come on—”

Akechi said nothing. He hadn’t said anything in thirty minutes. He’d called Futaba, told her what was happening, and then fallen silent while she flipped through every possible emotion, settling finally on ferocious resolve. It was almost comforting to listen to her work, to the clatter of her keyboard and the hiss and snap of her voice.

Beside him, Yu was summoning the cavalry. Ryuji, Sumire, Yukari, and Makoto Niijima had answered his call (or rather calls), and now he sat bowed over his phone, watching their messages roll in while they coordinated an action plan.

In the front passenger seat, Naoto turned around. “Anything yet?” they asked Akechi, white-faced and anxious.

Akechi shook his head.

“Damn,” Naoto muttered, and said to the operator in their ear, “We’re still working on a precise location. I say again, it’s likely the killer will transport him to an abandoned building or—yes, I know there are a number of those in Tokyo—”

“ _Got it_ ,” Futaba roared, with an accompanying _clack_ that probably broke her Enter key. Akechi sat up straight; Yu looked sharply at him. “Okay—now—you’d better have your phone on you, Ren— _yes._ ”

“Send the location to Yu, Makoto Niijima, Sumire, Yukari, Ryuji, and Naoto,” Akechi ordered. Naoto whipped around; Yu’s jaw tightened. “And to me.”

“Slow down, slow down. Yu, Makoto—?”

“Sumire,” Akechi repeated. “Yukari. Ryuji. Naoto. And me.”

“Done.”

Yu and Naoto’s phones pinged in concert. Yu turned his steely gaze back to his screen and typed swiftly; Naoto said, “I have the location. I have it. The address is—”

***

Ren blinked awake and found himself staring at his own lap.

He was sitting on a cold, rough floor—concrete—with his arms twisted behind his back. Pain lanced from his shoulders into his biceps and back again; too-tight handcuffs chafed his wrists. (And his patience: he was so sick of waking up in handcuffs.) He tried to lift his head, but his neck wouldn’t obey. He tried to shift, to struggle, but none of his limbs obeyed him either. He was completely limp, slumped boneless against a wall, a metal pipe digging into his spine.

Suddenly thick fingers grasped his jaw and jerked his face upward. Ren inhaled sharply through his nose as Mitsuo Kubo, eyebrows furrowed and tongue extended in concentration, came into view. Gripping Ren’s chin with one hand, he lifted the white knife with the other. This close, Ren could see dozens and dozens of finely carved eyes staring out at him from the eerie, almost translucent handle. It wasn’t made of metal. Bone, maybe? How sharp could bone—

* * *

Very sharp. Kubo touched the edge to the underside of Ren’s jaw, and a delicate push parted his skin. At first it was simply cold, weird, like a papercut; and then the pain arrived, pulsing horribly across Ren’s face and down his neck as Kubo dragged the knife toward his chin. Ren’s throat convulsed around a smothered scream; his muscles rippled against the power binding him, trying to twist away, trying to make it stop; his teeth set themselves on edge as the blade scraped _against his jawbone_ , the vibration juddering upward through his skull.

Finally, finally, Kubo lowered the knife. Ren couldn’t slump any further, but he wanted to; he pulled thin, reedy breaths in through his nose, trying to think. He felt hot and slow. His neck was wet, his shirt heavy where the blood had soaked into it. Kubo undid the first few buttons, rough and fumbling, and shoved the fabric aside. The sensation of his chapped fingers brushing across Ren’s throat was nauseating, somehow worse than the cut’s steady throb.

Ren had to do something. Had to slow Kubo down. Get him talking.

It took a few tries. The power over him was fierce, unyielding. Ren flung his mind against it again and again, a welcome distraction from the paintbrush tickling his neck. Nothing had ever stopped him for long; even Nyarlathotep couldn’t hold him down; he _would_ find a way, he _would_ —

Kubo lowered the wet brush to the floor, wrote: _Nyarlathotep_. The blood shone dully in the light from broken windows all around the room. Then it began to shine brighter, and bluer, and a smell like rotten eggs burned Ren’s nostrils. Sulfur. Kubo beamed.

“Finally,” he whispered, coming back for more blood.

All at once, Ren’s jaw unlocked. “Why are you doing this?” he rasped.

Kubo’s brow knitted as he bent over his work. “You shouldn’t be able to talk.”

“Who says?”

“I say.” _Crawling,_ he wrote, and dabbed at Ren’s neck again, using him like a living palette. _Chaos_. “So shut up.”

Ren pushed the pain to the back of his brain. “You want something from Nyarlathotep?”

“I said shut up.”

“Have you met him? Talked to him?”

“Don’t make me fucking kill you.”

Ren bared his teeth. “Aren’t you going to do that anyway?”

“Yeah,” Kubo replied. “But not for a while.”

He grabbed Ren’s face again, twisted it sideways, raised the knife. Ren willed life into his body: his neck, his head, his legs, anything, anything he could use as a weapon—

The blade was an inch from Ren’s skin when he regained control of his legs and kicked out. He caught Kubo solidly in the stomach, knocked him onto his back, _oof._ Kubo’s concentration broke. Ren reared up, threw himself forward, his shoulders jarring painfully as he wrenched at the handcuffs binding him. They didn’t give. He tried again—

Snarling, Kubo scrambled to his feet. “Joker!”

Ren stopped, squinted, and then understood. Kubo’s Persona was called Joker. It appeared above his head, pale and undulating, humanoid only insofar as it had four limbs and what could perhaps be called a head if you saw it at a glance, in the dark. Joker opened its arms, and Ren was paralyzed again.

“Motherfucker,” Kubo growled, and kicked Ren in the face.

Ren’s neck couldn’t bend to diffuse the blow. He heard the crunch as his nose broke, felt the gush of blood down his throat, and passed out. When he came to, it was because Kubo was slicing a second, symmetrical gash into the opposite side of his jaw.

If he could have screamed, he would have resisted the urge, but there was a special agony in not having the choice. He weighed his options again, the gears turning more slowly now that twin fires burned beneath his chin. He’d taken control once; he could do it again. Should he aim for Kubo’s sternum? Try to stop his heartbeat? Break his ribs? He didn’t think he could kick high enough to hit his face. What about his balls? If he could get his feet under him, get the right angle...

Wait. If Kubo could use his Persona, maybe Ren could too. Maybe they were in the Metaverse. He focused, reached for the power, for his masks. _Raoul. Metatron. Yoshitsune. Odin. Cybele_. _Anyone. Please._

Nothing happened. He was empty.

He was alone.

By now, Kubo had scrawled two rows of letters and characters around Ren, beginning at his right hip and arcing to his left. The theme, pretty consistently, was Nyarlathotep. Lots of promises, lots of beseeching. The words glowed bright blue, seeming to pulse in time with Ren’s heartbeat.

Ren willed his sluggish tongue to life. “Can I tell you something?”

“No,” Kubo said.

“Nyarlathotep doesn’t give a damn about you.”

Kubo snorted. “So what?”

“So, why bother summoning him? What do you think he’s going to do? Reward you?”

Kubo smirked, twice as grotesque in the blue pallor radiating from the floor. “He already has. This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

He stood up, advanced on Ren, brandishing the knife. Ren waited, breathing deep and slow, and as soon as Kubo was within range he kicked out again. His foot hit Kubo’s knee with a satisfying _pop_. Kubo went down, flat on his stomach; and when he lifted his head, confused and angry, Ren drove his heel into his face. The impact jarred all the way up Ren’s calf, but it was well worth it to see Kubo falling back, spitting blood.

Ren craned forward again, working the handcuffs against the pipe. They didn’t give, but the pipe started to, creaking against his weight. He yanked at it, once, twice, three ti—

Kubo didn’t bother to summon Joker this time. He threw himself on top of Ren, actually on top of him, practically in his lap, and slashed twin stripes down Ren’s chest, sternum to navel. Ren saw black, saw stars; when his vision returned, Kubo locked one hand around his throat and slammed his head against the wall.

The stars came back. For several seconds Ren’s brain was filled with a merciful fog. When it cleared, he wished it hadn’t, because reality was worse. He nearly retched at the slip of blood on his abdomen, at the pull and throb of the gashes there.

* * *

Kubo curled his lip and spat into Ren’s eye. Ren turned his face away, gasping for breath.

“You know what?” Kubo said. “I’m just gonna kill you. If I need more blood, I’ll grab one of the other—”

He stopped, tilted his head, listening. Ren sagged to one side. Half of his mind was still running scenarios, looking for a way out, but the other half was clouded by growing panic. His mouth tasted like copper. His ears and nose and hands were cold.

He was going to die here.

He’d never had that thought before. No matter how dire the situation, no matter how utterly he’d been fucked, he’d never before thought, _I’m going to die_. But he thought it now, and coughed, and blood spilled down his chin.

Kubo grinned, and said, “If you say so,” and plunged the knife into Ren’s stomach. Ren’s vision went white.

He woke up with fingers in his hair, twisting his head back. Ren blinked, squinted. The room seemed too bright. Hadn’t it been dingy before? Why couldn’t he see?

Something strange and inhuman leaned over him. Its skin was beige mottled with grey; its teeth were sharp, pointed, like fangs; its hair shone like an oil slick. Its eyes were a bright, bright, bright red, brighter than the blood caking Ren’s skin.

“Joker,” said Nyarlathotep. “It’s been a while.”

Ren’s breath gurgled in his throat, rattled in his chest. He couldn’t feel anything below his ribs. That was probably a mercy.

“Nothing to say?” said the god, sneering as he leaned closer. “No snide remarks? No solemn vows? Can you even understand me?”

Ren couldn’t. He heard the words, but he couldn’t make sense of them. Nyarlathotep’s smile widened.

“Not to worry,” he said. “I won’t prolong your suffering any further.”

He straightened up, extended his hand, summoned a long, slender sword. He rested the point in the hollow of Ren’s collarbone.

“Die,” Nyarlathotep said, and pushed the blade downward.

Ren didn’t think about Akechi, or Maya, or Sai, or any of his friends or family. The whine in his head was too loud, the haze too thick. The single sliver of his mind not given over to frantically trying to escape registered a cold, terrible, plunging pain.

And then he died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I played fast and loose with timing here because I wanted you, the reader, to know certain things before certain characters did, to up the tension. Everything actually happened chronologically. Hopefully it all made sense.
> 
> 2\. I was going to play coy, but if you live in the US I’d say you’re coping with enough uncertainty. So…now’s your chance to dip out if you want to be surprised by where this fic is headed…this isn’t permanent. We’re dealing with a setting in which characters can canonically be wished back to life. That hasn’t changed. 
> 
> 3\. The question is not if, but how.


	10. These Days Are Numbered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, gore, mild suicidal ideation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3oXyuJvE20g)
> 
> [_There’s always hope: hope in death_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3oXyuJvE20g)
> 
> [
> 
> _It brands these bonds, refines the rest_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3oXyuJvE20g)

Makoto Yuki felt it as a sledgehammer to the chest.

He staggered, caught himself on the kitchen counter, gasped as the teacup he’d been filling tipped over and spilled hot water across his hand. Struggling to breathe through a straw, he stumbled over to the sink, turned on the faucet, and thrust his hand underneath the spout.

“Makoto,” said Aigis, behind him, and he looked up to see his shock reflected on her face.

Aigis had felt it as a static jolt: a power surge that flipped a fuse inside her brain and made her vision flicker. When everything came back online, her heart was lodged in her throat, squeezed by a crushing pressure that brought tears to her eyes.

It was _exactly_ how she’d felt when Makoto had died.

But Makoto was here, thank goodness. She would feel guilty, later, for being relieved now. She crossed the room to him, threw her arms around him, buried her face in his trembling shoulder.

***

Yu felt it too, an all-body shudder that froze his blood in his veins. His throat closed; his tongue curled upward to stick to the roof of his mouth. His phone slipped from his fingers.

They were too late.

“Akechi,” he said.

“Don’t,” Akechi snarled, pressing himself against the door like a trapped animal. He fixed his blazing eyes on his own phone, still tracking their progress toward Ren’s location. “Don’t say it. _Chie, faster_.”

“I’m going as fast as I can!” Chie snapped, whipping them around a corner so hard that Naoto yelped.

All at once the ice turned to lead, weighing Yu down, dragging his shoulders forward to brace his elbows on his knees and hang his head. A tiny, tiny part of his brain played at denial, tried to explain why Yu couldn’t possibly know what he knew. Why his instincts couldn’t be trusted. They’d let him down once or twice, those instincts, hadn’t they?

On the floor, Yu’s phone lit up. Yukari was calling him. He extended his arm across what seemed like a vast distance, closed his hand around the phone, and answered.

“Yukari.”

“Yu,” she said, and he shut his eyes as the knowledge washed over him again, as the tone of her voice confirmed what he’d already suspected. “Yu, we’re here, but—”

“I know,” Yu murmured. He stopped, swallowed, pressed his palm to his forehead. “I know.”

“It’s...it’s really bad.” Yukari drew a shuddering breath. “It’s—”

“Are the police there yet?”

“No. Just us.”

“Naoto,” Yu said, grateful to whatever it was inside of him that made him Leader for taking over. “The situation’s changed.”

Akechi flinched, clenched his jaw, shook his head.

Naoto looked around. “What do you—”

They went pale, apparently recognizing Yu’s expression. Probably from when he'd thought he’d lost Nanako. _Thought_ he had.

The Investigation Team had been so, so lucky.

“We’re too late,” Yu said.

***

Akechi didn’t believe it. Would not believe it. He didn’t trust the acidic certainty suddenly burning at the back of his mouth; didn’t trust the peach pit rolling in his stomach. When it came to Ren, his instincts had almost always steered him wrong. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw it.

The cops still hadn’t arrived when Chie screeched to a stop in front of the building: a warehouse again, small and insignificant, in an outlying neighborhood of Tokyo. Akechi was out of the car almost before the wheels stopped turning, sprinting—in the Metaverse, he would have been flying—through the open front door and into the square concrete room beyond.

There were multiple other people in the room, but he only registered two of them: Ryuji Sakamoto, crouched on the floor by the far wall; and Ren, his body obscured in Ryuji’s embrace but his hair visible where his head rested on Ryuji’s shoulder. Akechi went to them, gripped Ryuji’s arm to push him aside.

“Akechi,” Ryuji croaked, going easily.

Akechi dropped to his knees and cupped Ren’s face in his hands. “Ren,” he said, brushing his thumbs across lukewarm skin. “ _Ren_.”

Ren’s eyes were closed, his expression serene. He might have been sleeping.

But he wasn’t.

Akechi had seen enough corpses to know that he wasn’t.

Suddenly, mercifully, he was standing outside of himself, watching as his body pressed its forehead against Ren’s. It was saying something; Akechi strained to hear.

“No,” it was whimpering. “No, no, _no no no_.”

He can’t hear you, you imbecile, he thought. Why are you clinging to him like that? Why bother? He’s not in there; he’s gone; it’s just a body.

From this vantage point, off to one side, Ren’s body didn’t even look like him, and not only because of the blood (though there was a lot of it). _Ren_ was charged, vital, the center of every conversation, even when he wasn’t speaking. He had a quiet magnitude that, once seen, couldn’t be unseen, at least by anyone who cared to notice. Every motion he made, every word he spoke, was carefully weighed and measured, and that assigned them a precious gravity.

This...thing, this battered doll masquerading as Ren, was nothing like that. It hung limp from the pipe to which it had been bound, and when Yu found a small key amongst the carnage and unlocked the handcuffs, it flopped grotesquely forward into Akechi’s lap. Akechi watched himself clutch it, pointlessly, because _it wasn’t Ren_. Ren was dead.

Ren was dead, and he’d died alone. Probably afraid. Anyone would have been afraid. _Akechi_ would have been afraid.

All Akechi was now was numb.

He looked away, around. Chie and Naoto hadn’t followed him inside; presumably they were waiting for the police. Yukari stood near the doorway, on the phone with—he tilted his head to see the caller ID—Makoto Yuki. Sumire (Akechi’s heart twinged, barely a needle prick) clung to Makoto Niijima, outright sobbing, while Makoto stroked her hair and stared at nothing through glazed, empty eyes. Ryuji huddled against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, tears coursing freely down his face. And Yu, twisted up in a knot, dropped to one knee beside Akechi and gripped his shoulder.

 _Pure, brainless sentimentality_ , said Nyarlathotep, everywhere and nowhere.

At once, Akechi was back inside his body, instinctively tightening his grip on the corpse in his arms. (Pointless. _Pointless_. But he couldn’t seem to let go.) Everyone else in the room looked around, Yu shooting to his feet, but Nyarlathotep, invisible, simply laughed.

 _Don’t worry_ , he said, resonant inside Akechi’s head. _I’m not here to fight_.

“Just to gloat,” Akechi said, hoarse and ragged.

_Well, yes. I think I’ve earned that, don’t you?_

Despite himself, despite his better judgement, Akechi pressed his face into not-Ren’s hair. He hadn’t realized he’d been crying, but the coolness of not-Ren’s scalp made the tear tracks on his skin obvious. Of course he’d been crying. It was what you did, when people died.

“So that’s what this was about,” Yu said. “Revenge.”

 _Naturally. What else would it be about?_ A pause while the hidden god considered this. _Well—world domination. But mostly revenge. My favorite game_.

“This ain’t a game,” Ryuji snarled, stepping up beside Yu.

_Oh but it is. To me, anyway; I suppose I can’t speak for the rest of you. But I’m having a wonderful time playing it._

“What happens now, then?” Makoto asked, flint and charcoal, joining the rapidly growing circle of bodies caging Akechi in. (Trying to shield him, no doubt, but he knew better than anyone that he couldn’t be shielded. Not from anything.) “In your game. Did you win? Are you satisfied?”

 _I won the first round_ , Nyarlathotep replied, with a quiver of glee that suggested a smile. _There’s more to come._

Sumire said nothing, but she took up position now too, dragging her sleeve across her face.

 _Goro Akechi_.

Akechi didn’t bother to lift his head.

_You know, don’t you, that this is your fault?_

“That’s not true,” Yukari said, joining the others.

 _Ren Amamiya had to be punished_ , Nyarlathotep continued, ignoring her, _because he fought me. And why did he fight me?_

“Because I refused you,” Akechi replied dully.

 _Precisely. You are, as ever, at the root of everything._ Nyarlathotep laughed. _You’d think you’d have learned your lesson by now. You’d think you’d know better than to—_

“Get to the point,” Yu said.

A bright, shining red eye opened on the ceiling, leering through a slitted pupil.

“Rude,” Nyarlathotep said. “I’m going to grant you all a brief reprieve. I promised my champion a reward and I intend to indulge him for a little while. I also look forward to watching all of you wail and gnash your teeth over this squashed insect you called a Wild Card. Then we’ll embark on round two.

“Goro Akechi: you have continued to tether yourself to other people despite your best judgement. You have continued to collect vulnerabilities. I intend to destroy them all.”

Akechi’s head snapped up, and _there was Mordred_ , ferocious and familiar, bursting from his heart like so many thorns. Akechi hissed, “Stay the fuck away from my children.”

Nyarlathotep’s eye narrowed in an unmistakable sneer. “Oh, no. No, no, no. They’ll be the first ones to die.”

Akechi surged to his feet, would have flown if he could; and Mordred actually flew, leveling a tremendous slash at the ceiling. “ _Rebellion Blade_!”

But Nyarlathotep was gone before the words had left his mouth, leaving behind only the echo of a cackle.

Akechi stood there, panting, until the exhaustion overtook him. He toppled sideways into darkness.

***

He woke up in darkness too.

Semidarkness, anyway. The only light was greyish-yellow, filtering in from a window across the room. It illuminated a windowsill lined with trophies; a red and black rug across wood flooring; a brass bedframe with knobs at each corner.

For twenty beautiful seconds, he lay there, half-sunk into a snug mattress, a duvet stuffed with what felt like goosedown tucked beneath his chin. For twenty beautiful seconds, he forgot.

Then he remembered, like a spear to the chest.

Akechi rolled onto his back, away from a bundle of warmth that he dimly identified as Morgana, and stared at the ceiling without seeing it. Something sticky was fighting to get out of his throat; his eyes burned; his tongue swelled until he could hardly breathe, until he had to gasp to keep from fainting. When he blinked, tears scalded his skin, coursing along his temples to tickle his ears.

Ren was dead. He was _dead_.

Part of him wanted to deny it. It hadn’t happened. It was a dream. It was a trick, a mockery staged by Nyarlathotep to upset him, to break his resolve and everyone else’s. But he didn’t really believe that. Akechi knew Ren as intimately as it was possible to know anyone; even Nyarlathotep couldn’t have created such a convincing corpse. No. He was dead. He’d been alive, and now he was dead.

(He’d died alone and afraid and in horrific pain; Akechi would have wished that death on Shido, but never on Ren, never. Not even at the beginning, when he’d been convinced he hated him.)

Part of him accepted it, but wanted to hold the truth at bay until he could handle it, until it shrank from a raging fire to a smoldering coal. Impossible. The claws wrenching at his sternum were proof enough: there would never be a time when the fact of Ren’s death, the loss of the only person who’d ever looked Akechi full in the face and loved him anyway, didn’t wreck him. Never.

(His therapist might have disputed that; humans survived worse, bore worse, recovered from worse every day; but Akechi was barely human at the best of times. Certainly he didn’t feel human now, with every fiber of his being alight with grief.)

Part of him wished he was dead, too.

What was the English saying? _Tis better to have loved and lost.._? What a fucking crock. Twas better to keep your distance so nobody could hurt you. Twas better to live like a hermit, under a bridge, far away from soft smiles and kind eyes and promises nobody could dream of keeping.

Akechi closed his eyes, adding a few more tears to the collection. Was this how it was going to be? Ren had been dead for a handful of hours, maybe a day, and Akechi was already sliding back to the cold, hateful place he’d occupied as a teenager? Was Ren really the only thing keeping him civil, the pin in his grenade?

He wanted Ren to shake him gently awake. “It was just a dream,” he wanted Ren to say. “I’m here. I’m right here.” He wanted Ren to lean down and kiss him, wipe his face, rise from the bed to get him a glass of water. He wanted to stumble out into the kitchen and find Ren waiting there, pushing a cup of coffee across the counter. He wanted Ren to sit next to him on the couch, to play with his hair until he looked up from whatever ridiculous thing he’d been engrossed in, whatever thing he’d thought was worth looking at other than Ren. He wanted to hear Ren say his name— _Goro—_ wanted Ren to say it because he was the only one who could without setting Akechi’s teeth on edge.

 _No one was ever going to call him Goro again_.

No one was ever going to tell him they loved him again. No one was ever going to look at him like they understood him again. No one was ever going to know when to push forward and when to pull back, what to say to soothe him, what to do to convince him that he was loved and he deserved it. No one was going to let him return the favor, let him do his best to care for them and hold them when they were upset and protect them from the world, cruel and uncaring as it always was.

I want to die, he thought, the bedframe rattling beneath him as he shuddered. I want to die. I want to die. I want to die.

…but—

He drew a quaking breath, crossed his arms over his face, pressed the dampness there into his sleeves. He couldn’t die. Not because he had to avenge Ren—he did, and would—but because he’d promised to care for Maya and Sai. As much as his love for them was an open, bleeding wound, because they’d be hurting too, he did love them, and he wouldn’t abandon them. He would never leave them alone, with or without Ren.

Sniffing, wiping his face, Akechi sat up. Morgana stirred beside him, lifted his head. His furry cheeks were damp, shining faintly in the light from the window.

“Akechi,” he mewled.

Akechi petted him, because it was what Ren would have done, and Morgana leaned into his palm purring, ragged and broken.

“Where are we?” Akechi asked, finally realizing it wasn’t their— _his_ bedroom.

“Sumire’s place,” Morgana replied, rubbing his nose with his paw.

“And the girls?”

“Here too. Asleep on the couch, last time I looked. It’s late.”

Akechi swung his feet out of bed, levered himself up. “Do they know?”

Morgana didn’t answer. Akechi turned around. “Morgana. Do they know?”

“Yes,” Morgana whispered, ears drooping. “I’m sorry. We wanted to wait, but—they were so scared, and—”

Akechi nodded, short and sharp. “It’s fine,” he lied. “Who else knows?”

“Everybody,” Morgana said, and revised: “All the Persona users. Sojiro. Ren’s parents.”

Somewhere in the depths of his suffocating misery, Akechi felt a flicker of resentment. Otome and Kai needed to know, of course, that their son was dead, but some part of Akechi had wanted to be the one to tell them. He’d wanted to weigh the looks on their faces against the pain they’d caused Ren.

“Everyone’s here,” Morgana added. “Not Ren’s parents, but—everybody’s in town. They came as soon as they heard.”

“Good,” Akechi replied, tugging absently at the ends of his sleeves. Someone had dressed him—or he’d dressed himself, and forgotten he’d done it—in pajamas. _His_ pajamas, thank god. It would have been awful to wake up in Ren’s clothes, shrouded in his scent. “That will make planning easier.”

“Planning—?”

“To kill Nyarlathotep,” Akechi replied smoothly.

Morgana blinked, and stood up, tail lashing. “Yeah. Yeah!”

Akechi looked around, located his phone on the bedside table. And there, beside it, was Ren’s. Akechi stared at it.

“Could you give me a moment,” he said, without looking round. “I need to make a call.”

The cat’s hesitation was palpable. At length, though, he said, “Okay,” and left the room.

Akechi shut the door, picked his phone up, opened his contact list. He scrolled down to the entry _Otome A. (Emergency)_ , tapped it, and lifted the speaker to his ear.

She didn’t answer. He tried again. And again. The fourth time, a hoarse feminine voice said, “Otome Amamiya speaking.”

“Otome-san,” Akechi said. “This is Goro Akechi.”

“A-Akechi—?”

“I’d like to speak to Kai as well, please,” he said, surprising himself with his own calm. “Is he there?”

A crackling pause. Then, “I’ll get him. Just a moment.”

Akechi’s heartbeat, pounding in his ears, filled the ensuing silence. Then there was another crackle, a clatter, and Otome said, farther away, “Kai’s here. I’ve put you on speaker.”

“Akechi,” Kai said, and for an instant Akechi couldn’t breathe. _He sounded like Ren_. Or Ren had sounded like him.

Akechi couldn’t do this. No one would blame him for walking out of this room, out of Sumire’s apartment, and away into the sea. No one would be surprised. Nyarlathotep would be thrilled, and that was unfortunate, but how was Akechi supposed to live another day, another year, another decade slowly forgetting the sound of Ren’s voice? The way he’d said _I love you_?

No. Maya and Sai needed him.

Akechi swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wanted you to know,” he said, “how badly you hurt your son.”

He heard an intake of breath, not quite a gasp, but didn’t stop to process it. “He loved me,” Akechi told them, savagely. “And he wanted you to love me, and he never understood why you couldn’t. Why you refused. He spent _years_ wondering about it, trying to figure out a way past it. It hurt my feelings at first, but I got over it. He never did.”

“We—” Otome began, but Akechi overrode her.

“He _loved me_. He loved _us_. Did you even know that you have grandchildren now? Do you even care?”

“We know,” Kai said, taut and strained. “We wanted to—”

“Meet them? But not me. Which isn’t how it works. There is no them without me. There was no _him_ without me.” _But there has to be a me without him, now._ “That’s it. That’s all. He never wanted me to speak to you, but he’s gone, so now I can say what I’ve wanted to say since the beginning. Which is: you’re cowards, and fools, and you could have been part of something wonderful but you missed your chance.” And then, only because he knew Ren would have wanted him to say it, he added, “I’ll send you an invitation to the funeral.”

Akechi hung up, and blocked Otome’s number, and walked out of the bedroom.

Sumire’s apartment was well-loved, but not well-lived in. She spent most of her time traveling these days, if not for interviews and exhibitions then for her trainees’ competitions. Three gold medals had made her a hot commodity in the gymnastics world, even a decade after she’d bowed out of the spotlight. The medals were displayed in a case in the hallway, almost an afterthought; a picture of her and her sister was much more prominently featured by the doorway to the living room.

Morgana, perched on the back of Sumire's huge green armchair, meowed a greeting when Akechi came in. Sumire herself was curled up in the chair, staring at her phone, her forehead creased and her eyes dark and hungry. On the couch nearby, asleep in each other’s arms, were Maya and Sai. Akechi couldn’t look at them without tasting copper in his mouth.

Morgana tapped Sumire lightly on the head. She glanced up, sat up, took her earbuds out. “Akechi-kun,” she murmured, leaning forward.

“Please don’t get up,” Akechi said, holding up his hand. “I would rather not be touched.”

She sagged, nodded. “All right.”

“What are you looking at?”

Sumire’s lips thinned. “Come and see.”

He did, circling around the chair to peer over her shoulder.

“All of a sudden,” she said, opening the Fictotus app, “all anybody seems to want to talk about is this person, Mitsuo Kubo.”

“The killer,” Morgana growled.

“Mmhm. Supposedly, he’s been a Yudeo star for years.” Sumire tapped on a profile, and Akechi found himself looking at a flabby, squashed face, stretched into an unpleasant rictus under a mess of dark, stringy hair. “He became famous for playing pranks on people. Scaring them. Upsetting them.” She scrolled briefly through some of his most recent photos, mostly selfies with his tongue out. “His newest video...”

Sumire handed Akechi one of her earbuds, which he put in. She toggled to Yudeo, rewound the video she’d been watching—Kubo flapped his hands and wobbled his head in chilling reverse—and pressed play.

“Hey guys,” a grating voice bellowed in Akechi’s ear. “Mitsuo-kun comin’ atcha here with another takedown. You ready? This dude’s a real piece of shit.”

Beside the video, an archived live chat scrolled past too fast to read, beyond the occasional glimpse of a fawning compliment or horny emoji.

“Or pile of shit. Or mountain of shit. There’s plenty of shit to go around!” Not funny, but Kubo laughed at himself. “All right. So my topic today is _Ren Amamiya_.”

Akechi stiffened.

“This guy,” Kubo added, pointing at an inset photograph obviously and creepily taken from afar. “You all remember this guy? Well, you wouldn’t, because the cops have been covering for him. This creep is a fuckin’ criminal. First he attacked a dude on the street. Then—”

“I don’t want to see this,” Akechi said.

“It goes on and on,” Sumire said, fast-forwarding. “He spends ten minutes accusing Ren of—just terrible things. And then—”

She stopped. Kubo leaned toward the camera so his face almost filled the frame.

“But guys,” Kubo said. “ _Guys_. It’s okay. I got you. What do we do to shitdicks, Mitsuo Nation? That’s right. We fuck ‘em up!”

Every word Kubo spoke hissed, _snick, snick, snick_ , like a lighter struggling to ignite in Akechi’s heart.

“And that’s what I did. This guy got what was coming to him and then some. Check the link in the description for the full video.” _Snick. Snick. Snick_. “And we’re not stopping there, right? Right?”

He paused for a response he couldn’t hear; the chat zoomed past in a blur. “ _Right_. You know what I like to say. Shitdickery is contagious. Ren Amamiya-Akechi—” Ah, so he’d mentioned that Ren was married; probably he’d mocked him for it, too—“is the ultimate shitdick. Sorry.” He grinned. “ _Was_ the ultimate shitdick. And I’ll be working hard to stamp out the rest. Smash that subscribe button to—”

Sumire paused the video, closed the app. “Futaba says all of this is new,” she murmured. “Otherwise, she would’ve heard about him before.”

“That’s not all,” Morgana said. “According to Yu, the Investigation Team fought Kubo in 2011. He murdered a teacher and then tried to confess to the Midnight Channel murders. He went to prison.”

“ _This_ ,” Akechi said, removing the earbud, “is what he wanted from Nyarlathotep? To be _internet famous_?”

This was why he’d brutally tortured and murdered five strangers? This was why Ren was dead?

 _Snick, snick, snick_.

“Papa,” said Sai, sleepily.

The sound of her voice broke his heart all over again. “Sai-chan,” he said, skirting around the chair, kneeling as she climbed off the couch. Her face was wan, closed.

“Where’s Dad?” she asked, like she didn’t already know.

Akechi’s throat constricted. He put his hands on her tiny shoulders, not sure if he was steadying her or himself. “He died,” he said, with great effort.

Sai’s eyes widened a fraction. “Like—my mom?”

Behind Akechi, Sumire stifled a cry. Akechi nodded.

Sai’s mouth twisted. “No,” she said, pushing him away. “No. I don’t want that.”

“I don’t either,” he admitted. “But—”

“ _No_ ,” Sai repeated, fiercer than he’d ever heard her, wrapping her arms tight around herself. “I wanna see him.”

“You can’t,” Akechi managed, “right now. At the funeral—”

“I wanna _see him_ ,” Sai snapped, stomping her foot, tears shining in her eyes. “I want him t’come home.”

Akechi wished Ren were here. He would have known what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, voice catching on the hook lodged in his throat. “Sai, I’m so sorry.”

She glared at him, hiccupped, and started to cry. When he opened his arms, she flung herself into them, let him gather her to his chest and hold on tight.

 _Snick, snick, snick_.

Maya was awake too; she’d shifted on the couch, buried her face in the cushion.

“Maya,” Akechi croaked.

Her shoulders tensed.

“You can—” Can what? Burst into tears too? Come and get a hug too? “If you want—”

She shook her head, a quick one-two, and mumbled something.

“I can’t hear you.”

“I said,” Maya said, sitting up but keeping her face turned away, “no.”

But she needed it. Akechi recognized all his own tells: the rigid shoulders, the clenched jaw, the trembling fists clasped on her knees. God, god, what a stupid, stupid thing, to be going through the worst possible moment of his life and have Ren _not be there_ to help, when he would have known exactly what to do and what to say.

“Maya,” Akechi began, and she rounded on him.

“ _No_!” she shouted, and he hadn’t thought she was already crying but she was, with great heaving sobs that seemed to collapse her ribcage. “I don’t need anything from you! I don’t _want_ anything from you. I want to be alone!”

Akechi swallowed, vaguely surprised that he didn’t taste blood. “No you don’t.”

Maya bared her teeth. “How do you know?”

“Because I never did,” he replied. “Not really. Please come here.”

Maya recoiled, pressed her shoulders against the couch. “I can’t. I don’t—I don’t deserve—”

Akechi went still. “What?”

“It’s my fault,” she said, chest hitching. “It’s my fault he—”

Akechi sat up straighter, adjusting his grip on Sai to free one of his arms. “Come here,” he said, not a request. “Come here to me.”

She did, but she wouldn’t look at him until he cupped her chin in his hand and made her.

“What,” Akechi said, low and savage, “are you talking about.”

Maya coughed, tears spilling down her cheeks and onto Akechi’s fingertips. “It’s my fault,” she repeated. “I shouldn’t’ve left. I could’ve done something, I could’ve helped him—”

Akechi tightened his grip a fraction. “Did Ren tell you to leave?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Did he _tell you_ to leave?”

“Yes,” Maya whispered.

“Then you did the right thing,” said Akechi firmly. “He knew what he was doing. He was protecting you. That was his job.”

Her face crumpled like so much tissue paper. She threw her arms around Akechi’s neck and wept, big, pealing, painful cries. “It’s not fair,” she sobbed. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair.”

Akechi doubled and redoubled his grip on them both, staring straight ahead. _Snick snick snick snick snick_ —

Something on the end table caught his eye. He tilted his head.

It was Paradise Lost. Akechi knew Ren had kept the dagger, had never understood why he hid it in the closet like a dirty secret. He’d told him a dozen times to buy a nice case for it, put it on display, but Ren had seemed somehow ashamed of it. It wasn’t exactly pretty, or subtle, but it had meant something to him; wasn’t that enough?

Seeing it now, Akechi went straight from _what is that doing there?_ to _Ah, I see_ , as the pilot light in his chest flickered finally to blazing life.

Maya was right.

 _It wasn’t fucking fair_.

“Listen to me,” Akechi said, grasping his daughters’ shoulders, leaning back to look them both in the eye. “You remember what Ren said before I left? That if I didn’t come back, he’d come after me?”

Sai nodded. Maya said, “Uh-huh.”

“Well,” Akechi said, “that goes both ways. This is not going to happen. I’m going to fix it.”

“What?” Sumire said.

“How?” Morgana demanded.

But Maya lifted her chin, set her jaw, and said, “Good.”

***

Akechi put the girls to bed in one of Sumire’s guest bedrooms (“You don’t have to sleep, but try to rest”) and returned to the living room with his spine straight and his fists clenched. Sumire opened her mouth, but Morgana beat her to it: “What do you mean, you’re gonna fix it?”

“Exactly what I said,” Akechi replied, and raised his voice: “Lavenza? I need to speak with you.”

No response. Akechi narrowed his eyes, reached for the power, found it: Mordred, _and_ Hereward, _and_ Loki and Robin Hood. Wasn’t that interesting.

“ _Lavenza_ ,” he snapped. “Now, if you please.”

And she was there, her golden eyes as luminous as her pale skin. She’d grown. Apparently Velvet Room attendants did that, or could do that. Her head was level with Akechi’s shoulder now, her white hair flowing smoothly down her back, held out of her face by her silver and gold butterfly headband. She wore a heavy, floor-length blue dress with a high collar and flared, voluminous sleeves, covered all over with gold embroidery.

“Trickster,” she said, clasping her hands together. Her face was puffy, her nose shiny and red. “I’m sorry. I should have come sooner.”

“Too right,” Akechi said. “I’ll be back,” he told Sumire and Morgana, who goggled at him, dumbfounded and incredulous.

Lavenza stepped aside to reveal a grand, curved door covered in blue velvet and studded with golden buttons. It opened, and Akechi strode through it.

…into a jazz club. Not _the_ jazz club, not Jazz Jin, but close. He checked his outfit, grunted with grudging approval: he was wearing a suit, a single-breasted, wine-colored coat over a black silk shirt, black pants, and patent leather shoes. Black velvet gloves shimmered in the dim overhead lights as he turned his hands this way and that, flexing his fingers. Lifting his head, he advanced further into the club, his heels clattering on black and white tiles polished to a reflective shine.

In the center of the room, a massive grand piano gleamed beneath a golden chandelier. The keys moved on their own, tinkling out a tune that Akechi was certain he’d never heard before, but that sounded familiar all the same. Small circular tables stood at equal intervals all around the space, mostly wreathed in shadow, with a single exception. The table in the far corner, adorned with a red camellia in a slim glass vase, sat under a spotlight, which threw Igor’s long nose into sharp relief. Margaret stood at his left shoulder, outside the circle of light; Lavenza went to take up station at his right.

“Trickster,” Igor greeted, less jovially than he might have. “Yu Narukami. Makoto Yuki.”

Akechi looked around. Yuki got up from one of the other tables, putting his hands in the pockets of a royal blue suit over a white shirt. Yu, dressed in a black suit with a yellow carnation in the breast pocket, padded up to the piano and trailed his fingers across its surface.

“Aigis should be here too,” Yuki said to Igor, softly.

“Ah, you’re quite right,” Igor said. “My apologies.”

Igor nodded past the three of them, and Akechi turned to see Theodore bow and step sideways through a door. When he returned, Aigis was with him, her skin very white against a blue suit identical to Yuki’s.

“Akechi,” she said, taking Akechi’s hand.

Akechi fought down the urge to snatch it away, channeled that energy instead into a firm, grateful squeeze. If anyone deserved to look at him like that right now—like they saw him, like they understood—it was her. Aigis held Akechi’s gaze for a moment, bowed her head, and broke away to stand beside Yuki.

“Why are we here?” Yu asked, curt, clipped.

“Narukami-kun,” Margaret said gently.

“Don’t _Narukami-kun_ me,” Yu countered, ice in every syllable. Akechi had never seen his jaw so tight or his hands so shaky. It would have been intriguing, if Ren wasn’t dead. “Why are we here? What do you want?”

“We have to discuss the situation,” Igor said.

“Oh, now there’s a situation?” Yu said, turning the full force and power of his stare on the hunched, gnomelike man. “Persona users have been dying for months and you’re radio silent, but now that Ren’s dead, it matters?”

“It always mattered,” Lavenza said, voice catching. She twisted her trembling hands tight around each other. “But we didn’t know—”

“How convenient,” Akechi sneered, running his thumb across his knuckles. “You give us all this power, you promise us protection, but when Ren needed it most—”

“I’m sorry,” Lavenza whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Nyarlathotep cut us off from the human world some time ago,” Igor said. “We were only recently able to restore the connection.”

“No,” Akechi said, “you were only recently _allowed_ to restore the connection. _He_ cut you off and _he_ brought you back. Probably because crushing us like bugs is too boring. And if that’s the case—if he can switch you on and off at will—then what good are you?”

“You’ll need our assistance if you hope to stop him.”

“And we want to give it,” Theodore put in. “Please believe that. We would never have let this happen if we’d known—”

“I only need one thing from you,” Akechi replied, tugging at his gloves. “Bring Ren back.”

Silence, broken only by the faintly jingling piano. Margaret, Lavenza, and Theodore looked at Igor.

“We cannot,” Igor said. “I’m s—”

“Don’t apologize,” Akechi said. “Can’t, or won’t?”

“We don’t have that power,” Margaret said.

“That’s not true,” Yu cut in. “You did it for Nanako.”

Margaret winced. “We—strictly speaking, _we_ didn’t.”

“Then who did?” Akechi asked. “Philemon? Fine. Bring him here. Let him do it.”

“We don’t know where he is,” said Lavenza.

Akechi laughed, soft and dangerous. “ _Interesting_. I thought he couldn’t die.”

“He can’t. He’s out there somewhere. Just…not here.”

“Then you’ll have to find him, won’t you? So he can bring Ren back.”

“Resurrecting the dead,” said Igor, “is against the rules.”

The rules. _The rules_. To hell with the rules, what was the point, if Nyarlathotep could break them up one side and down the other—

“ _You did it for Nanako_ ,” Yu repeated.

“That was different,” said Margaret.

“Why?”

“She was an innocent,” Igor replied. “She did not enter the game willingly. Ren Amamiya did.”

“Did he, though?” Yuki asked.

It was a simple question, posed casually, but it struck Lavenza like lightning. She stood up straight, clenching her fists.

“What do you mean?” Theodore said, frowning.

“I mean,” Yuki said, tilting his head so that his bangs fell away from his face, his eyes strangely bright in the gloom, “did he sign the contract? Did he accept the consequences?”

“No,” said Lavenza, almost triumphant. “He didn’t.”

Akechi threw his head back and laughed. He almost couldn’t stop; it was too much; this was _too much_.

“So,” he said, barely managing to regain control of himself, grinning so wide it hurt, “let me get this straight. Yaldabaoth dragged Ren in here, gave him the Wild Card against his will, and then you kept _dragging him back to do your dirty work_ even though he’d never formed an agreement with you?”

“That’s,” Margaret began.

“Be quiet,” Akechi breathed, fixing his gaze on Igor, inscrutable as ever. “If that’s true, then not only— _not only_ —is Ren dead because you abandoned him…but he never should have been involved in the first place! _You_ asked him to deal with Maruki, _you_ sent him after Erebus and Nyx, _you_ put him on Nyarlathotep’s radar—he’s dead because of you, _a thousand times over_ , but you refuse to fix it?”

“I told you,” Igor said, “we can’t.”

“ _Philemon can_. Find him,” Akechi said, advancing on him, reaching for a gun that wasn’t there. “Or tell me where to look, and I will.”

“I’m sorry,” Igor said, shaking his head. “I can’t allow you to—”

Lavenza ripped off her headband, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it. The _snap_ of breaking metal echoed.

“Lavenza,” Theodore gasped.

“I resign,” she said, tossing her Compendium on Igor’s table with a tremendous _bang_. “Akechi is right. This is our fault. It’s Philemon’s fault, for disappearing without telling us where he was going. I’m going to find him.”

“Think carefully about this,” Margaret said. “If you leave, you can’t come back—”

“Ren Amamiya is _dead_ ,” Lavenza snapped, “because we failed him. Because _I_ failed him, over and over. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

She turned to Akechi, her hair billowing around her, made buoyant by fury. “Your Personas have been restored to you,” she said. “To all of you. You have free access to the Metaverse Navigator. If you need anything, call me and I’ll come. In the meantime, I’m going after Philemon. Once I find him, I’ll call for you.”

Akechi smiled, broad and sharp. “I look forward to it.”

“Nyarlathotep,” she added, “is working through Mitsuo Kubo for now, but he’s free to enter the game whenever he wants. Don’t underestimate him.”

“Can you tell us anything about Kubo?” Aigis asked.

“Nothing you don’t already know,” said Margaret, glancing at Igor. “Except: Nyarlathotep’s power lies in warping human cognition. He’s given some of that power to Mitsuo Kubo. Anything Kubo says, people will accept as fact. They’ll act accordingly.”

“Can you,” Yuki asked Lavenza, “make us a safe place to meet, outside of Nyarlathotep’s awareness? A place like this?”

Lavenza nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Then we’ll meet there tomorrow,” Akechi told Yu, Yuki, and Aigis. “Discuss our next move.”

“All right,” Aigis said. Yuki nodded.

“Fine by me,” said Yu.

“Was that all?” Akechi asked Igor.

Igor sighed. “No,” he said. “I also wanted to offer you the true power of the Wild Card.”

Akechi drew up short.

“You will need,” Igor said, holding Akechi’s gaze, “all the help you can get to defeat Nyarlathotep. If you sign the contract—” He flicked his hand, and a ledger before him opened in a flurry of paper—“you’ll be given access to Ren’s Personas, and to your full potential.”

The piano stopped playing.

“But,” Igor continued, “signing means you accept the consequences of your actions. All of them.”

Akechi walked forward, tectonically, cosmically slow, and stared down at the book. The contract, written in a fine, looping script, seemed to shift and morph on the page.

Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen year old Akechi would have taken the offer, and to hell with the consequences. What were consequences, to a boy who fully intended to die once he’d achieved his single, solitary goal? He’d needed power, at all costs, at any cost. He would trade thousands of souls to get it.

Thirty-five year old Akechi…

Igor wasn’t wrong: he would need every possible advantage to stop Nyarlathotep. Shouldn’t he take power where he could find it? Didn’t he owe that to Ren, to Maya, to Sai?

Except—

The last time they’d fought Nyarlathotep, they’d won by the skin of their teeth. By the skin of Akechi’s teeth, because he’d been able to break the rules. Because, like Ren, he’d been a Trickster.

Akechi closed the ledger.

“Ren didn’t accept the consequences,” he said, “and neither do I.”

Igor smiled.

“If that is your course,” he said, “then I wish you good luck.”

And all at once, Akechi was back in Sumire’s living room, scaring the shit out of her and the cat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it didn’t occur to me when I first wrote this but like, there are probably still cops in tokyo that remember ren and the phantom thieves, and deliberately delayed the police response to spite him. could they have saved him? no. should they have tried? yeah. 
> 
> iirc, it's never established why Nanako comes back to life; the doctor's like "weird! sometimes that's just how the cookie crumbles!" In the anime it's sort of implied that Teddie did something, but again, never clarified. I like to think Margaret had Philemon on speed dial and was like "fix it bitch" and he was like "oh, k." like. are you even a velvet room attendant if you don't grab philemon by the ear and yell at him at some point.
> 
> pretty much every chapter from here on out is like, 5000+ words. I feel like I should apologize for that or break them up more but like! I don’t wanna take 50 chapters to tell this story!! so here’s my blanket apology: every chapter from here on out is gonna be 5000+ words and I’m sorry. enjoy???


	11. Blood on My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** homophobia and homophobic slurs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOSU_Pw7vO4)
> 
> [_When the fires, when the fires have surrounded you_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOSU_Pw7vO4)
> 
> [
> 
> _And the whole wide world’s coming after you_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MOSU_Pw7vO4)

[CHATLOG. Futaba to Aigis, Akechi, and 22 others... 11/7/XX, 4:00AM]

 **Futaba** K*** put up two more videos  
 **Futaba** yu.deo/asTef56  
 **Futaba** yu.deo/NmgH88  
 **Futaba** “King Shitdicks,” he’s calling you @Yu @Yuki

 **Ann** Why are you up so late?

 **Futaba** why are YOU up so late

***

“So,” Kubo sneered, lounging in his chair, spinning a plastic crown around his finger. “King Shitdick number two: Makoto Yuki. See those eyes? Empty. Like a fuckin’ serial killer. Get this: he’s an EMT in Port Island. Is this who you want coming to your house when you’re having a heart attack? Fuck, no. He looks like he’d get lost halfway there and go off chasing a butterfly or some shit. But that’s nothing compared to what he does in the bedroom...”

Yosuke was already sick with rage by the time Kubo finished accusing Aigis of being a high-tech sexbot and Makoto of being a crazy weeb-pervert. He probably shouldn’t have watched the next video, titled “King Shitdick Prime.” He knew it was gonna be bad the minute he saw Yu’s face in the thumbnail, but he couldn’t stop himself. He had to know.

“Mitsuo Nation,” Kubo said, bracing his hands on his desk. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this. But it turns out? Somebody out there is _worse_ than Ren Amamiya.” He paused, nodding somberly as if he could hear the live chat booing. “I know. I was shocked too. Meet Yu Narukami.”

Yosuke’s phone creaked. He forced himself to loosen his grip.

“Mitsuo Nation, you know me. I’m no homophobe. Gay guys don’t scare me. I just don’t think they should be allowed around kids.” Kubo shook his head, his pouchy cheeks quivering with exaggerated sorrow. “You can’t trust ‘em, you know? It starts young. And I dunno who hurt Narukami to make him like this, but he doesn’t get to take it out on other kids now.”

A buzzing roared to life in Yosuke’s ears, almost drowning Kubo out. He found himself staring at Kubo’s flat, flabby lips, shaping the words that, twenty-some-odd years ago, Yosuke might have listened to and believed. Had definitely heard and definitely believed.

“He’s an elementary school teacher in Inaba. He ‘teaches’—” Air quotes—“eight year olds. Eight year olds! And everybody in Inaba knows what he is. He got married to his _partner_ —” Yosuke’s teeth groaned inside his skull—“last year. Huge deal. They practically threw a festival. How the fuck is this okay? What are these people smoking?”

Yosuke didn’t notice when Yu came into the room. The two of them, along with Yukiko and Teddie, were crashing with Chie until this nightmare was over. Yosuke hadn’t wanted to wake Yu up, so after he’d read Futaba’s messages, he’d snuck out to the living room and put on his headphones.

But here Yu was, haggard and drawn. He padded around behind the couch, rested his elbows on the back, stared over Yosuke’s shoulder at Kubo’s theatrically grim expression.

“Yosuke,” he said, and Yosuke jumped, yelped, tugged his headphones down.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Yosuke gasped, clutching his chest. “Jeez. One of these days...”

“You shouldn’t be watching that,” Yu murmured. “It’ll only upset you.”

Yosuke scowled. “Too late. How long’ve you been up?”

“A few minutes. The school called me.” Yu had been fiddling with his phone, but now he stopped, sighed, and tossed it gently onto the couch cushion. “I’ve been fired.”

The buzzing came back. “ _What_?”

Yu leaned down, clasped his hands together, rested his forehead on top of them. Yosuke’s throat constricted. “Yu...”

“Apparently,” Yu said, “they’ve been getting phone calls all night. The administrators, the board, the police.”

“The police—?”

“Mm. Nobody _believes_ I did anything.” He broke off. “But...it looks bad. So they let me go.”

“This asshole,” Yosuke whispered, glaring at Kubo’s hungry, gleeful face. “This—absolute—”

“I spoke to my uncle, too,” Yu added, straightening up abruptly. “There’s going to be an investigation. There _should_ be.”

All the air left Yosuke’s lungs. “But you didn’t do anything.”

“I know. But they don’t.” Yu picked at a loose thread, smoothed it down. “You should probably put out some kind of statement. Try to get ahead of this.”

“Ahead of—what are you talking about?”

“Yosuke,” Yu said, gently. “You married me. The minute they get wind of you, they’ll come for you too.”

“So?” Yosuke demanded, sitting up straight. “ _So_? I don’t give a—”

“You should. This kind of thing—” Yu paused, eyebrows knitting, swallowing hard. “Hurting children—if they find any reason to think you knew—”

“You didn’t _do_ anything,” Yosuke repeated, turning around, rising up on his knees to bring himself level with Yu. “You aren’t—”

“I know that,” Yu said, looking past Yosuke’s left ear, “and you know that, but Kubo’s power means that almost everyone else—”

“Screw everyone else!”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Yeah, it is!” Yosuke grabbed Yu’s elbows, tugged him forward so that all that separated them was the couch, so their noses would have touched if Yu bowed his head a fraction. He didn’t, and that only made Yosuke angrier. “I’m not throwing you to the wolves!”

“ _But you should_ ,” Yu said, still avoiding his gaze. “I don’t want you to suffer. I don’t want—”

“You don’t think dumping you would make me suffer?”

Yu inhaled, and Yosuke could practically see the words _You’d get over it_ forming in his mouth. (Actually they were _You’d get past it_ , but Yosuke wasn’t that refined.) “No I wouldn’t,” Yosuke countered, tightening his grip, shaking Yu slightly. “No way, Partner. No way. You’re stuck with me, no matter what.”

“Yosuke,” Yu murmured, but Yosuke had had enough. He locked his arms around Yu’s waist and pulled him close, digging his fingertips so hard into Yu’s ribs that he probably left bruises. Yu sagged, kissed the top of his head, and held on tight.

***

[CHATLOG. Makoto Yuki to Aigis, Akechi, and 22 others... 11/7/XX, 6:15AM]

 **Makoto** team meeting at 11

 **Ken** Where?

 **Makoto** you’ll see

***

The cognitive dissonance was strong.

Akechi had spent the first nineteen years of his life feeling like he was split in two. There was the Akechi the world knew, and the Akechi he (and eventually his victims, and even more eventually Ren) knew: one crisp and bright and sweet, the other sharp and brooding and heady. But he was sixteen years out of practice maintaining that sort of division in his brain. Now, it gave him a headache.

The problem was: half of him was still grieving, still acutely aware of Ren’s absence, of the spaces where he should have been and the things he should have been doing. Sumire did her best, but getting Maya and Sai up and bathed and fed that morning, the _morning after_ , was agony. Akechi spent most of it in a daze, head and heart throbbing, wishing for Ren’s hands and voice and shoulders, steady and strong.

But the other half of him was furious at himself. Ren was dead, but he wasn’t gone. As soon as Lavenza found Philemon, he’d be back. What was the point of mourning? It was a waste of energy, a waste of time. Akechi had better things to do, bigger problems to solve, than the millstone that lodged in his chest every time he realized all over again that Ren wasn’t there. Because Ren was coming back.

Akechi was so, so sure.

Breakfast (such as it was; really Sumire struggling to stretch her pantry to feed four people and a cat on short notice) was interrupted by a hideous blare from Sumire’s intercom.

“Yoshizawa-san?” said a masculine voice: the security guard in the lobby. “I’m so sorry to disturb your morning.”

Maya put her arm around Sai’s shoulders; Morgana hopped onto the table, tail swishing; Akechi and Sumire exchanged a look. “Um,” she said, pushing the reply button, “that’s all right. What is it?”

“You have visitors.” Sumire’s eyes widened, and Akechi tensed. “An older couple. They say their name is Amamiya?”

The silence hung in the air like a bomb waiting to fall. Sumire, Morgana, and Maya looked around at Akechi, gaping, bristling, and glaring, respectively. Slowly, glacially, Akechi set down the eggs he’d been whisking.

“I’ll go down,” he said, and strode out of the apartment.

The whine in his ears stayed at a manageable level all the way down the elevator. It was only once he saw them, Kai as tall and lean as his son and Otome with Ren’s bold gray eyes, that he lost his composure.

“What are you doing here?” he snarled, charging over to them.

Neither of them flinched. In fact, Otome tipped her chin up in a picture-perfect mirror of Ren’s usual look of defiance. _Don’t think about him. Do think about him. What’s wrong with thinking about him? He’s coming back. It doesn’t matter_. “We thought you might need some help.”

“Not from you.”

“Who else is there?” Kai asked. “It’s obvious that something terrible is happening. Did you know that someone smashed our window last night?”

“It’s fine,” Otome added. “It’s only a window. But they did it because that hateful man is spreading lies about Ren. And everyone believes him.”

“I don’t want you here,” Akechi snapped. “I didn’t ask you to come. How did you even find—”

“I called Sojiro.” Otome stooped to pick up her suitcase. “Akechi-kun—Goro? Can I call you Goro?”

A knife between his ribs, blood in his lungs. “No.”

“Akechi-kun it is,” she said. “You were right. We’ve been cowardly and foolish. We’d like to start making it up to you now.”

“You’ll need someone to watch the girls while you fight whatever’s doing this,” Kai said. “Let us help you.”

Akechi glowered at them, clenching and unclenching his fists. He’d only ever seen them once in person, and that in passing. Here, now, so close, they were obviously, nauseatingly Ren’s parents; he was obviously, nauseatingly their son. He’d inherited his father’s stature and permanently messy hair, once black, now silver; his mother’s huge, dark eyes and delicate face. More than that, he’d inherited their ability to blast through every barrier in their path, to step over every boundary you set until they could swing your ribs open like a door and walk inside. Akechi had never been able to resist the inexorable pull of Ren’s orbit; how could he resist the sun and the moon from which he’d sprung?

Besides...

If you knew what to look for—and Akechi did—it was clear that they were suffering. They were probably only in their early to mid-sixties, but Kai’s shoulders were stooped as if under a heavy burden, the skin around his mouth slack and waxy. Otome stood straight, but her eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, her gray hair bound up into a greasy ponytail. They were grieving, too. Possibly, _possibly_ , they had even more to grieve than Akechi did. At least he hadn’t foregone almost half of Ren’s lifetime for his stupid pride.

“Fine,” Akechi said, turning on his heel. “Follow me.”

They followed him into the elevator, lugging their numerous bags. (They must have been really sure he’d agree; or maybe they’d planned to stay with Sojiro until he gave in.) Silence reigned as they traveled upward toward Sumire’s apartment.

Eventually, Akechi said, “I’m going to get him back, you know.”

He felt the combined force of their gaze like a punch.

“We have a plan.” Akechi ran his thumb across his knuckles. “I can’t discuss it.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kai touch the small of Otome’s back. She looked straight ahead, blinking hard.

When Akechi opened Sumire’s door, Morgana arched his back, Maya and Sai jumped, and Sumire spun around.

“Everyone,” Akechi said, stepping aside, “meet Otome-san and Kai-san. Ren’s parents.”

Morgana relaxed reluctantly, sat down, looked away. Otome and Kai bowed.

“Yoshizawa-san?” Otome said to Sumire, and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to meet you.”

“Oh,” Sumire said. “Well.”

“We apologize for the intrusion,” Kai said. “I hope it’s all right if we stay here a while.”

“Um.” Sumire glanced at Akechi; brightened at his nod. “Of course! There’s plenty of room.”

“We brought futons,” Kai added, indicating one of the bags at his feet. “We’re happy to sleep in the living room.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary, I have plenty of space for everyone. Won’t you sit down? We were making breakfast.”

“Let me help,” Otome said. “I brought groceries.”

“Bless you,” Sumire said, sagging. Otome smiled again.

“First,” Akechi said, stepping over to Maya, “proper introductions. Maya, Sai, these are your grandparents.”

Sai blinked, turned her face into Maya’s side. Maya narrowed her eyes.

“How come we’ve never met you before?”

Otome and Kai looked at Akechi, who raised his eyebrows.

“That’s a great question,” Kai said. “And the answer is: because we were being foolish.”

“About what?” Maya asked.

“When Ren first told us that he was dating your—”

Kai paused, and Maya supplied, “Papa.”

“Your papa,” he continued, gratefully, “we got scared. We didn’t think they were right for each other. But Ren stood by him. We were upset about that, so we didn’t talk to him much afterward.”

“But Ren did the right thing,” Otome said, meeting and holding Maya’s gaze. “We were in the wrong. Entirely in the wrong. We’d like to fix it now.”

Maya cocked her head, squeezed Sai’s shoulder. “We’ll see.”

Akechi couldn’t have loved her more.

“Kai-san,” said Sumire, scooting around the counter, “I’ll show you where you can put your things. I...think there are sheets on the bed in there, but I’d better check.”

“Let’s get these people fed,” Otome told Akechi.

***

At 11AM, identical blue metal doors materialized in several locations across Japan, including one of Sumire’s guest bedrooms. Akechi, Sumire, and Morgana (still grumbling about Ren’s parents) stepped through.

Lavenza wasn’t there, but she had outdone herself. Almost all of the remaining Persona users stood in a huge round room. A royal blue rug embroidered with golden flowers spanned almost the entire floor, leaving a narrow strip of stone visible at the border. The walls, plastered and painted white, were inset with stone pillars that rose to a fan-vaulted ceiling high overhead. For all of that, they could hear each other perfectly. In reality their voices would have made an echoing clamor, but here, they all sounded clear and coherent.

In the center of the room was a circular wooden table, so old that its pockmarked surface and thickly carved legs were stained black. Twenty-five chairs—three too many, since Akihiko, Kanji, and Ryuji had stayed behind to watch their respective children—were marked with brass nameplates indicating assigned seating. There was even one for Morgana, now in his Metaverse form: almost a children’s high chair, without the tray.

Akechi managed to avoid everyone’s sorrowful looks and reaching arms until he got to his seat. Ann cornered him there, jaw set, eyes blazing, and pulled him into a hug that crushed the air from his lungs.

“We’ll make him pay,” she muttered in his ear. Akechi nodded against her shoulder.

That started a bit of a pile-up. Once Ann let him go, Yusuke and Futaba embraced him too, both of them trying not to cry and failing miserably. Makoto shot him a fearsome look across the table, and Haru, also blinking back tears, kissed his cheek before she found her chair.

“Okay,” said Yuki. Even his voice was amplified, sonorous, in this space. “Let’s get started.”

Everyone fell silent. Aigis and Akechi looked at Yuki, who looked at Yu, who blinked. “Me? Am I—okay. Hello. Lavenza made this place for us. We should be safe from Nyarlathotep here.” A general exhale; some of the tension ebbed. “First, we visited the Velvet Room last night...”

Akechi eyed the Phantom Thieves while Yu recounted the conversation with Igor and the attendants. He watched the color come back to their faces, the iron to their spines. Good. He didn’t trust electronic communication anymore, even when arranged by Futaba, so he hadn’t been able to alleviate their grief before now. It was high time.

“As for where things stand generally,” Yu said, “I’m sure you all saw Futaba’s messages this morning. Kubo sent his followers after me and Yuki. I’ve been fired—” A cacophony of gasps and cries; Rise said, “ _What_?”—”and so has Yosuke, from Junes.”

“Screw ‘em,” Yosuke said, shaking his head.

“I was fired too,” Yuki piped up. “Bad publicity.”

“Man, what the _hell_ ,” Junpei growled.

“Akechi and Aigis were mentioned in Kubo’s early videos,” Yu said, nodding at them, “but not totally ripped to shreds. I’d guess he’ll go after you next.” Akechi snorted. “And then he’ll move on to everyone else. He doesn’t have to bother killing us if he can tear us down.”

“So he thinks,” Akechi purred. “Nyarlathotep will know better. Speaking of which: if he can be believed—which he can’t—he intends to stay out of the game for a while. But eventually he’ll be back.”

“If we want to stop Kubo, we need to do it before Nyarlathotep returns,” Yu said. “Otherwise he’ll be that much harder to beat. Any ideas?”

“Where does Kubo live?” Mitsuru asked.

“Dunno,” Futaba put in, drawing her feet up to crouch on her chair. “I’ve been looking, but there’s no record anywhere. That’s the way he wants it, I bet, but it helps that he spent the last twenty years in prison IRL.”

“There must be a clue somewhere,” Chie said. “His IP address, his photos—”

“The IP address changes all the time,” Futaba replied, “and he’s super careful not to take pictures in front of anything identifiable. He’s always in front of a wall, or his face is right up in the camera.”

“Perhaps one of us could infiltrate his fanbase,” Aigis said. “They might know where he lives.”

“Tried that,” Futaba said promptly. “Nobody knows.”

“Somebody’s gotta,” said Junpei. “Unless he lives in like, another dimension—”

“Not impossible,” said Naoto, drumming their fingers on the table. “Considering.”

“Even if we found him,” Fuuka said, “what would we do?”

“Kill him,” said Ken.

“Beat him senseless,” Ann said.

“Turn him in to the police,” said Chie.

“Er,” said Haru, as Fuuka shrunk back in her seat, “none of those options really solves the problem, though. Surely Nyarlathotep could heal him, or...resurrect him. And the police can’t be trusted to hold him.”

“Definitely not,” said Makoto Niijima.

Teddie scrunched up his face. “Didn’t you guys used to do something?” he asked, looking around at the Phantom Thieves. “You know—you’d make people stop doing bad stuff by—how did it work?”

Akechi whipped out his phone.

“We went into their Palaces,” Morgana said. “Or into Mementos. Once we stole their Treasure, they stopped wanting to ‘do bad stuff.’ ”

Teddie scratched his head. “Huh?”

“Mitsuo Kubo,” Akechi told the Meta-Nav.

 _Ping_! “Candidate found.”

Several chairs creaked as everyone leaned forward. “What does that mean?” Yukari demanded. “What did you just do?”

“He’s got a Palace!” Morgana exclaimed, springing up. “If we went in there and stole his heart—”

“He wouldn’t want to serve Nyarlathotep anymore,” Yusuke said. “He’d be useless to him.”

“I still don’t get it,” Teddie stage-whispered.

“I’ll explain later,” Yosuke muttered.

Futaba produced her laptop, apparently from nowhere, and hunched over it, her nose almost brushing the screen. “Now we just need to know where it is,” she said. “And what it is—”

Morgana must have seen the confusion on the Shadow Operatives’ faces, because he sighed, crossing his stubby arms. “When someone’s heart gets distorted,” he said, “they sometimes create a Palace inside the Metaverse. The Shadow World.”

“ _Ohhh_ ,” Teddie said, perking up. “Like what you guys did in the TV!”

“Yes,” Yukiko said, blushing. “Something like that.”

Morgana continued, “If we have the keywords—their name, their primary location, and the place their Palace manifests as—we can enter their Palace and steal their heart.”

“And you’ve done this before, correct?” Mitsuru asked.

“Not in a long time,” Makoto replied, “but yes. We did it several times.”

“It’s kinda cool,” Rise said. “I mean, think about the things you could change with—”

“I got it!” Futaba whooped, making everyone jump. “It’s Kichijoji!”

 _Ping_! “Candidate found.”

“How did you do that?” Ken asked, peering over her shoulder.

“See that sign?” she said, pointing at something onscreen. “It’s the bun shop. He must spend all his time in Kichijoji.”

“Is that enough?” Yu asked Morgana, who shook his head.

“Now we need to know _what_ his Palace is.”

“How do we work that out?” Fuuka asked.

“Uh, mostly by guessing,” Ann admitted, scratching the back of her head. “Let’s see. He’s an ass. He’s a creep. He gets off on attention…”

“A theater?” Naoto suggested.

“No candidates found,” said the Meta-Nav.

“A nightclub,” said Rise.

“No candidates found.”

“A stadium,” Junpei put in.

“No candidates found.”

“A runway?” Yusuke said.

“No candidates found.”

“Maybe it’s someplace _in_ Kichijoji,” Sumire mused. “A resale shop? Since he’s not who he thinks he is?”

Akechi barely heard the Meta-Nav reject this suggestion, because he suddenly knew the answer. Morgana said it first: “ _A temple_.”

 _Ping!_ “Result found.”

“A temple?” Yuki repeated, frowning.

“Because he thinks his followers are his supplicants,” Naoto said thoughtfully. “Interesting.”

“Disgusting, more like,” Yukari said, clenching her fists on the table. “He’s terrible.”

“Well,” Yosuke muttered, “we knew that.”

“What’s next?” Yu asked.

“Now we’ve gotta start the infiltration,” Morgana replied. “Find a way in, secure a route to the Treasure. Maybe send a calling card, too.”

“Let’s go right now,” Aigis said. “We can—”

“Um,” said Haru, “one moment, please.”

Everyone looked at her. “Haru?” Makoto Niijima prompted.

She didn’t speak right away, staring at her hands.

“This is going to be really dangerous,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Akechi. “The most dangerous thing we’ve faced.”

“Especially if Nyarlathotep realizes what we’re doing,” Haru said, “and tries to intervene.”

“Which he will,” Mitsuru said.

“Which he will,” Futaba agreed.

“So…shouldn’t we leave…a designated survivor behind?”

Silence.

“What?” Yukari gasped.

Akechi crossed his arms.

“Well,” Haru said, glancing at Ken, at Ann, at Naoto, at Mitsuru, at Akechi. “Well, this isn’t like when we were all in high school. There are people relying on us now…” Ken looked away. “Children.” So did Naoto. “If we all go, and we all die, what happens to them?”

“You’re right,” Akechi said.

“But we’ll need all the help we can get,” Ken pointed out, shakily. “All the firepower we have. We can’t—”

“But _if we die_ —”

“You’d rather Hayato go back to an orphanage?” Akechi asked, not bothering to keep the edge from his voice.

Ken stiffened; Yu curled his hand into a fist. After a second, Ken dropped his gaze to the table.

“Hayato’s got Nanako,” he muttered.

“But the others don’t,” Akechi replied, leaning forward, clasping his hands together. “Maya and Sai have their grandparents.” A series of quizzical looks greeted this statement, but he ignored them. “The others…who would care for them?”

“I have to talk to Kanji,” Naoto said. “I can’t make this decision on my own.”

“Me neither,” Ann murmured. Mitsuru nodded.

“Then,” said Yuki, “it sounds like we need to wait until that’s sorted out. Let’s plan to start the infiltration tomorrow. Once everyone’s affairs are in order.”

“One o’ clock tomorrow,” Yu said. “All in favor?”

A chorus of _yes_ es, one or two _aye_ s, and a smattering of nods. Yu rapped his knuckles on the tabletop. “Then—”

“One last thing,” Yukiko said. “If I may.”

Yu nodded. “Sure.”

“Did Lavenza say how long she thinks it’ll take to find Philemon?” she asked quietly.

Akechi sat perfectly still as every eye in the room turned on him. “No,” he said. “She didn’t.”

She bit her lip and nodded.

“That’s all for now, then,” Yu said. “Stay safe, everyone. We’ll see you tomorrow in Kichijoji. One o’clock.”

Everyone moved at once. Akechi, rising, pulled Morgana’s chair back so he could jump down. Yu gripped Akechi’s shoulder, squeezed it, broke away to join Yosuke, Yukiko, and Chie. Sumire found Akechi next.

“Ready to go?”

“I actually need to go back to the house,” he said, carefully keeping his tone neutral. “Just for a moment, to pick up some clothes and things for the girls.”

“I’ll go with you,” Sumire said, straightening her shoulders. He felt a rush of gratitude, and inclined his head.

“Morgana?”

“Nah,” Morgana said, not quite meeting his eye. “I wanna go back and check on Sai.”

Akechi considered arguing, rejected it. It was too cruel. “How thoughtful. We’ll see you back at the apartment, then.” A door opened beside him; he turned. “This way, Sumire.”

Their first indication that something was wrong was the glass crunching beneath their heels.

The second was everything else.

“Oh no,” Sumire breathed, covering her mouth.

Akechi pivoted slowly to take it all in, withdrawing deeper and deeper inside of himself with every inch. He should have known. He should have guessed, when Otome and Kai said their window had been broken, that Kubo’s fans would come for his home, too.

Akechi and Sumire stood in the living room of what had been Ren and Akechi’s house. It was unrecognizable. All of the windows had been broken in from the outside and then crushed to fine powder across the floor. The chabudai was flipped over, the couch cushions strewn about the room. Black paint stained the ground, the furniture, the walls, sometimes in great splashes and streaks and sometimes in words: _fag_ ; _criminal_ ; _murderer_. (One of those things was not like the others.) Photographs and paintings had been stripped from the walls and destroyed, their frames broken, their canvases torn.

“The mugs,” Sumire said, from the kitchen. Akechi drifted over to see what she meant.

All of the cabinets stood open, a couple of them ripped from their hinges. Every dish in the house had been smashed, flung to the ground or into the sink. Including, yes, every single one of their mugs. Ren had amassed an eclectic collection over the years—traditionally, for example, Sojiro gave him one every Christmas—and now they were ruined. The pots and pans weren’t broken, but they were scattered across the tile, bunched up against the overturned table and chairs. Even the fridge had been hit: Akechi’s shoes squelched through various unidentifiable liquids dumped from each and every container.

Turning, half-blind and numb, Akechi made his way into the hall. The paint was here too, spread so thickly on the floor that it had dried in ropy black ribbons. This hadn’t happened recently.

“They must have done this last night,” Sumire whispered. “It wasn’t like this when Futaba and I came by yesterday.”

“It’s fine,” Akechi heard himself say. “It’s only things. Come on. We came here for clothes; let’s get clothes.”

He strode down the hallway toward Maya’s room, knowing what he’d find beyond her open door. They had tipped over the bookcase, shredded the books, flung her mattress and pillows off her bed, dumped her dresser drawers on the ground and yanked her clothes from their hangers. Her tablet was nowhere in sight. Probably someone had taken it. Akechi bent down to pick up a shirt, but stopped when Sumire uttered a terrible cry.

Straightening up, he called, “What is it?”

She didn’t answer. He braced himself, and went to see.

Sumire stood in Akechi and Ren’s room, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. The carnage here was far worse than the rest of the house. Their sheets had been torn apart, their mattress gouged, black paint spattered across their bed. Ren’s clothes, _Ren’s clothes_ , sat in a heap on the floor, stinking of human urine. Both of the bedside lamps were broken.

So was Ren’s laptop.

Akechi stared at it. It laid facedown on the ground, screen wrenched from keyboard, hard drive smashed to splinters. It was only a thing, a stupid thing, but Akechi knew Ren had been diligently uploading pictures onto it, documenting dates and times and places. Only some of the photos had made it onto social media, and once they were on the computer, Ren always deleted them from his phone.

Pictures of them. Pictures of their daughters. All gone.

Akechi wanted to be angry, but all he felt was hurt.

Moving as if through clotted molasses, Akechi surveyed the rest of the damage. There, beside the bed, a small table had been overturned, its long, slender base snapped in half. A candle had rolled away from it and lay forlorn and forgotten against the wall. Someone had stomped a handful of flowers and incense into a multicolored, fragrant smear.

“Did you,” he said, but the rest of the sentence died in his throat.

Raking her sleeves across her cheeks, Sumire turned. “Futaba and I set it up,” she choked, breaking off into a sob. “We were so careful—we picked the flowers specifically—I can’t believe—”

A neuron fired. “Who did the matsugo-no-mizu?”

Sumire pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, drew a trembling breath. “Sojiro did. We called him after you—collapsed.”

Akechi’s stomach clenched. After he’d collapsed, from exhaustion or horror or both, and left everyone else in the room to deal with the body. Left Sojiro to perform the last rite, which Akechi should have done. Should have thought about before now. He hadn’t even seen Sojiro since Ren had died; he should go over there and talk to him—

“Akechi,” Sumire said. She hiccupped, sniffed, clenched her fists. “His body—it’s at the temple. We should probably—talk about the wake. The cremation.”

Akechi did not recoil. He did not. “No.”

“But—”

“Why would we have a wake?” he snapped, stepping sideways, circling away from her. “He’s coming back.”

“If Lavenza can find Philemon,” Sumire said. “If Philemon agrees to resurrect him.”

“She will. He will.”

“But if she can’t, or he doesn’t—”

“I am not,” Akechi said, bristling, leaning into the rage as it coiled hot and familiar in his gut, “I am _not_ putting Sai and Maya through—”

“You don’t want to put _yourself_ through,” Sumire countered, eyes glittering with unshed tears. “And I understand! But I hate the idea of him lying there alone—”

“It’s not _him_ , it’s his body, _he_ is somewhere else—”

“His body is all that’s left! I want to believe he’s coming back too, I miss him as much as you do, but I can’t—we can’t—it’s _so selfish_ to leave him to rot while we wait to see what happens! What if it takes weeks? What if it takes years?”

Akechi couldn’t breathe. He caught himself on the footboard, snatched his hand back when it closed over still-tacky paint. The black imprint, stark against his skin, was a welcome distraction, a buoy to seize in the raging storm.

“I can’t,” he said, pushing his other hand through his hair. “I can’t.”

“You don’t have to do it,” Sumire said, voice catching, “alone.”

Yes, he did.

He closed his hand into a fist, pressing his fingertips against the paint, rubbing it into his skin. He did have to do it alone. The others cared too, they were hurting too, but this...Ren was Akechi’s husband. Because Akechi had asked him to be, because Ren had accepted, because he’d taken Akechi’s name and agreed to help him raise children. If he was dead— _temporarily,_ said Loki’s voice—then there were traditions that needed to be observed. Steps to be taken. And it was Akechi’s responsibility.

Breathe in, out.

“If Lavenza hasn’t come back in two days,” he said quietly, “I’ll call the temple.”

Sumire deflated. “All right,” she said. “Okay.”

Akechi wiped his hand on the bedspread, turned. “Come on. We don’t have time to dawdle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...the thing with Kubo being an internet celebrity is, I needed something to preoccupy him with that didn't involve fighting, but would still let him harass Akechi and co. and what is the internet for, if not for harassing people?


	12. Bottom of the River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ov467Bl-pzA)
> 
> [_Hold my hand_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ov467Bl-pzA)
> 
> [
> 
> _Oh baby, it’s a long way down to the bottom of the river_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ov467Bl-pzA)

Where to begin?

At the beginning, of course.

Lavenza had only traversed the planes that made up time and space once or twice. The Velvet Room, where she had the best access to her powers, was a pocket dimension nestled between what humans thought of as reality and what they called the Metaverse (or the Shadow World, or Tartarus, or, or…). Having spent so much time in the in-between, she could move freely between those two planes, made malleable by human cognition.

Traveling to other realms, other dimensions, was harder.

It took a great deal of care, for one thing. Every plane had a different texture, a different consistency. Some were fine and fragile as gossamer; others leaden, rough, difficult to penetrate. Peeling them apart required a focus that strained her eyes and stuck her damp hair to the back of her neck. More than once she cut or bruised her fingers; they healed instantly, but the shadow of the pain remained, an unwelcome distraction as she worked her fingernails back into the gaps and resumed prying them wider.

The first plane she visited would, to human eyes, have appeared pitch-black. Lavenza saw it in shades of grey: slate sky filled with boiling clouds; charcoal-colored rocks jutting at nonsensical angles up, down, and sideways, mounted to nothing; a steely expanse of still water, faintly reflecting her as she flew past overhead.

She didn’t expect to _see_ Philemon. That was too much to hope for. Instead she watched for his aura: a telltale blaze of color, like a comet through her brain. Lavenza would recognize it at any distance, so long as she occupied the same plane.

He wasn’t here. She rolled her shoulders and slipped into the next plane, through the liminal membrane with what felt like a rush of cool water. In some ways, it was: she wasn’t wet, but she was now gliding through an ocean, emerald green and murky. No light filtered down from above, but razor-sharp weeds spiraled upward from a sandy bottom many fathoms below, snatching at her wrists and ankles as she passed. As she crossed over a craggy abyss, hot breath plumed beneath her, pushing her further toward the surface.

Not here, either. This time, when she dipped through, she found herself suspended in the foggy space that divided all of the planes from each other. Lavenza knelt, shins cold against an invisible floor, and dug her fingertips into the hard, clear surface. Iridescent blue and purple lights sparked and multicolored soil caked beneath her fingernails as she dragged them downward, leaving behind glowing stripes. Presently the stripes expanded, fused into a door, and she dropped through.

Lavenza was not supposed to be here. She dangled, limp and helpless, among thousands of slivers of glass suspended in midair, in a white, icy expanse like the sunshine reflected off an iceberg. The shards spun, tinkling like windchimes, glittering pink and green and red in a dizzying display.

Strictly speaking, Lavenza didn’t have to breathe, but she usually preferred to. Right now she couldn’t. Her eyes wouldn’t focus. A headache throbbed in her skull, a building pressure made worse by the constant sparkling. She had to get out. She had to take control. Painfully, she wrenched one arm free; then the other; and then her legs—

Every piece of glass moved at once, clustering together, coiling into a long, sinuous shape like a serpent crossed with a porcupine. Its head was as big as Lavenza, angled like an adder’s. It opened a massive mouth, revealing a dozen wickedly curved fangs, and hissed, flaring the spines all along its body. Lavenza swallowed a scream, kicked off, dodged its lunge so narrowly that she felt the stark promise of its cheek scrape against her. She zoomed away from it, heard wind whistling through its spikes as it gave chase.

Lavenza twisted right, bounced off a rubbery wall; left, same. She arced upward, banged her head on an unyielding surface, was struck momentarily dumb. The serpent’s teeth snapped shut inches from her foot as she recovered her senses and dove. All around her was nothing, a blank whiteness, giving no indication of how to get out. She would not panic. She would not fail. She would not let this creature catch her and kill her, as it so clearly wanted to do. She had to find Philemon. She had to help Ren.

The snake’s breath washed across her back as it closed the distance between them, opened its maw—

—and Lavenza spun aside at the last instant, letting it hurtle past. She flexed her fingers, summoned her chainsaw, cranked it to life and dragged it through this plane’s spongy border—

She was standing in a great stone gazebo, suspended in a starry sky. Panting, she looked around. The serpent hadn’t followed her. She was safe.

And Philemon was here.

The fact of his power, of his magic, brushed her skin like heat from a banked fire. When she turned, she could make out his shape in the far distance, a violet afterimage across her eyelids. Lavenza lifted gently into the air and pointed herself toward him.

It took a long time. Ice formed and flaked from her sleeves and the hem of her gown. It crystallized the sweat that had collected on the back of her neck, solidified her hair, clustered in her eyelashes. She didn’t feel it. Her blood didn’t need to circulate, so it didn’t matter when it froze; she didn’t need to see, so the icy film that coated her eyeballs didn’t deter her. All the while, Philemon’s signal got stronger, pulsing faster and harder like a beating heart, licking like flame across Lavenza’s vision.

When Lavenza finally reached solid ground, she shook herself, scattering chips of ice, and wiped her eyes.

She should have known.

Philemon sat at the edge of the Sea of Souls, a vast, unbroken desert obscured by whirling sand and grit. Like her, he’d grown; unlike her, it was back into the man he had been, rather than into a new one. His hair was as black as the sky above them, skin as white as the stars; and he wore a black turtleneck tucked into black slacks. The only points of color in his outfit were his belt and his shoes: red leather, dulled by a fine film of dust. Most of his face was covered by a white mask, so pale that it was almost impossible to tell where it ended and his skin began. Its upper right corner flared into a purple butterfly’s wing, curling backward across his temple; the lower left extended long and low along his jawline, like the fork at the base of a swallowtail’s wing.

He was perched on a dead, twisted tree stump, elbows on his knees, hands clasped, gazing through honey-colored eyes at the roaring yellow clouds beyond. He didn’t look at Lavenza, but the quirk of his lips indicated that he knew she was there.

“Philemon,” Lavenza said, willing force, venom, into the word.

“Careful there, little one,” Philemon said. “You might want to show some respect.”

“Respect is earned. You’ve done nothing to—”

“Nothing?” He sat up, cocked his head, eyed her. “I made you.”

“You made me like humans,” Lavenza countered, folding her hands across her stomach. “Rebellious.”

Philemon smiled outright, looked back at the Sea of Souls. “That’s true. Even if I hadn’t, though, I think it would’ve happened on its own. Humans have that effect on creatures like us.”

“Where have you been?” she asked, sand squeaking between her teeth.

“Here and there. Feeling maudlin. Chasing my death.”

“Avoiding your responsibilities,” Lavenza snapped.

“Responsibilities to who?”

“To the Wild Cards. To the humans you signed a contract with—”

Philemon stood up in one fluid motion, put his hand in his pocket, turned to face her. “To Ren Amamiya,” he said, “right? You forget, I didn’t sign a contract with him. Nyarlathotep did. He gave Ren the power and he took it away.”

Lavenza had never hated anything in her entire existence, but as acid sizzled in her throat and heat prickled her nose, she thought she hated Philemon now.

“ _Yaldabaoth_ gave it to him,” she said, and when Philemon shrugged one shoulder she continued, “They’re not the same. The Trickster thought he was serving Igor, and once Yaldabaoth was gone, he continued to fight on our behalf—”

“On _his own_ behalf,” Philemon said.

“He saved the world!”

“That was a side effect, yes, but ultimately the means served his ends. He didn’t want to live in Takuto Maruki’s botched reality, so he ended it. He didn’t want to lose Tokyo to a monstrous AI, so he destroyed it. He didn’t want to sacrifice Goro Akechi to Nyarlathotep, so he—”

“So what?” Lavenza exclaimed, aware that she sounded like a human teenager. “Why does it matter what his motivation was, if the outcome was the same?”

“It matters,” Philemon said, looking away. “It matters very much.”

“ _Why_?”

“He’s not my servant, Lavenza. He’s no one’s servant but his own. We call humans like him Wild Cards, but he’s the only one who’s _truly_ wild. An enigma. A chameleon. Humanity can’t put its faith in someone like that.”

“Yes they can.” She blinked rapidly, pretending it was because of the dust blowing through the air, pretending she wasn’t about to cry. “They’ve done it before.”

“But not completely,” Philemon said. “Not without reservations. He never attained the World Arcana—”

“Yes, he did!”

“You gave it to him, as a consolation prize. He didn’t _earn_ it.”

“So you’re saying,” Lavenza said, dropping her hands to her sides, balling them into fists, “that because he’s not your puppet, you won’t help him? You’ll leave him dead?”

Philemon didn’t answer for a long moment. With his face turned away like that, all she could see was his mask, smooth and still.

“I’m saying,” he said at last, soft and sad, “that’s why I _can’t_ help him.”

“Wh—” Lavenza’s mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”

Philemon met her gaze, honey eyes darkened by sorrow to amber. “The moment I felt his death, I came here to rescue him. I know he’s in there, somewhere; I can sense him. But he won’t come to me. And I can’t find him.”

Lavenza’s knees gave out. She braced her palms against the ground, sank them into sand plush and cold as powdered snow.

“Soon,” Philemon added, “quite soon, his soul will cross the boundary where even I can’t reach. I can’t stop it from happening. I can’t save him.”

“No,” Lavenza whispered, hunching her shoulders. “ _No_.”

“I’m so sorry.” He sounded it. “I wish I could change it.”

That word, _wish_ , knocked something loose in Lavenza’s memory. Golden flowers in a jar. Yellow eyes in a round face. A glowing star fastened to a tall, slender boy’s belt. The lie she’d had to tell, and the relief she’d felt when the truth had come out.

She stood up. “I know who can.”

Philemon blinked. “Who?”

“Goro Akechi,” Lavenza said, fumbling at the boundary of the plane. “He can go in after him—he can bring him back here—”

She wasn’t paying attention, so she didn’t see: Philemon’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth, and then snapped it shut. His fingers fluttered, tapping thoughtfully against his hip as he ran scenarios, as he flipped a card and watched its effects ripple outward.

“That would work,” he said. “Yes. That would work.”

“Wait here,” Lavenza said, wrenching open the door she needed. “I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” Philemon said, looking out at the Sea of Souls. “I promise.”

***

“But _where_ are you going?” Maya insisted.

“Maya,” Akechi said, gently detaching Sai and passing her to Otome. “How many times am I going to have to dodge that question?”

“Don’t dodge it,” she replied doggedly. “Answer me.”

They were standing in the sitting room of Haru’s flat. It was huge and cavernous, with great swooping ceilings and wood floors painted a gray that matched the walls. The general aesthetic was wealthy American grandmother: tweed fabrics, busy patterns, ornate rugs and throw pillows embroidered with teddy bears. All of this was juxtaposed with contemporary furniture: steel and glass end tables, a coffee table sharp enough to cut. Haru herself was hurriedly moving every knick-knack she owned out of reach of Ryuji’s children, who had immediately set about finding everything valuable and trying to eat, throw, or crush their fingers with it.

The fact was, Akechi didn’t want to explain. It was a long story, too long to get into right at this moment, and he couldn’t say “I’m traveling to another dimension to fight a monster, see you later,” and leave it at that. But he also understood her concern, understood why her nails visibly bit into her palms as she surveyed him.

“We can explain, if you want,” Kai muttered. “We don’t know all of it, but we know some.”

“Ahh Uta don’t touch—” Ryuji squawked, followed by a tremendous crash.

“That’s all right,” Haru said, high and strained. “I never liked that vase anyway!”

Akechi tamped down the instinctive surge of irritation and crouched to level his gaze with Maya’s. “I am going,” he said, lowering his voice, “to catch Mitsuo Kubo.” She inhaled sharply. “And to make him pay for what he did to your father.”

She tilted her head, her eyes glittering in a manner both familiar and unfamiliar to him, if only because he’d rarely seen that particular expression in the mirror. “Won’t it be dangerous?”

“I’ll have a score of people with me,” he replied. “We’ll keep each other safe.”

Maya’s mouth twisted, skeptical. Akechi grasped her shoulders and leaned in close until their foreheads were almost touching.

“I am coming back to you,” he said, with every ounce of his latent rage and ferocity. “I have to, don’t I? I still have to save Ren.”

Maya gritted her teeth, nodded. Akechi kissed her forehead, the top of her head, and straightened up to kiss Sai’s cheek too. She watched him, silent and owlish, clinging lemur-like to Otome.

“I’ll be back,” Akechi told Ren’s parents.

“You’d better be,” Otome said, so much like her son that it hurt.

“Come on!” Morgana called. He was waiting by the door with Sumire, springing anxiously from paw to paw. “We’re gonna be late!”

“The party can’t start without us,” Akechi replied in an undertone. He caught Sumire’s eye, a silent question, and nodded when she did. “Right. Haru?”

She was helping Ryuji move something big and incomprehensible—sort of a bird with sequins for feathers, probably a Kitagawa original—into a closet at the far end of the room. She looked wildly around at Akechi, blinked, and said, “Oh! Yes! One moment!”

They heaved the statue into the closet, closed the door, and Haru hurried over. “Ready!”

“Ryuji,” Akechi said, waiting until Ryuji turned, until he reluctantly met his gaze. “Keep them safe.”

“Course,” Ryuji said gruffly, scratching the back of his head. “Course I will.”

Akechi didn’t say _we’re counting on you_. Ryuji knew. There was a reason Ann had gone on ahead of them: she hadn’t wanted Ryuji to stay behind, was angry even with Akechi for arguing that it made the most sense. From a logistical perspective, Ann’s skillset was more valuable than Ryuji’s; they would need both fire and healing skills to get through this alive. And if worst came to worst, it would be easier for Ryuji to disappear, to hide himself away with the children, than it would be for Ann.

He’d brought Mjolnir. It gleamed on the coffee table.

Akechi glanced at his daughters, but he couldn’t look at them for too long; his throat tightened around a white-hot brand. Turning on his heel, he said, “Let’s go.”

Haru lived on the top floor of a sort of co-op. The lower floors encompassed a public library, a children’s center, and, at ground level, a coffee shop. On the roof, surrounded by a tall fence, was a garden. Haru led the way to it, smiling at the security guards as they passed.

“Okay,” she whispered, guiding them behind a hedge and out of sight. “No one should be able to see us here.”

Akechi hardly had to focus before the blue metal door appeared and opened. Through it, he saw the Old Temple, transformed by Kubo’s distortion into a towering, palatial structure, a layer cake of gold and gilt that stretched many hundreds of stories high. The others were already there, testing the weight and heft of weapons long unused.

“Last chance,” Akechi said to Sumire, Haru, and Morgana.

Morgana bristled. “To do what? Chicken out?”

Akechi shrugged. “No one would blame you.”

“No way!” he spat.

“We’re going,” Haru agreed, pressing her fist to her heart.

“But you knew that already,” Sumire said. “Right?”

Akechi smirked. “It pays to be sure.”

He pivoted on his heel and stepped through the doorway.

His feet should have immediately landed on asphalt; he should have tilted his head back to see the warped temple in its full glory. Instead, as he crossed the threshold, the image beyond dissolved into fog, and he found himself floating, suspended midair in a prickling chill.

He had two seconds to register his shock before Lavenza said, “Akechi,” in his ear, and grasped his hand.

“I found him,” she said. “But we don’t have much time. Come this way.”

Akechi didn’t hesitate. He didn’t give the others a second thought. He tightened his grip on Lavenza’s fingers, and let her pull him away.

***

Sumire opened her eyes to darkness.

At first, she thought she was dreaming. It was an old dream, dusty with disuse, calling back to the weeks after Ren and Akechi had broken Maruki’s spell over her. In it, she woke up in a coffin, surrounded by a blackness so complete that she instinctively tried to touch her eyes to make sure they were open. The movement jarred her elbow painfully against rough wood, and then the panic set in.

All of these things happened. But what sparked the panic, in this case, was the fact that it wasn’t a dream. The dark was _too_ dark, the wood _too_ rough. Her nose was full of the smell of damp earth and damp wood and her own damp body; her tongue tingled with the pungent tang of fear. Her breath was very loud in the enclosed space, filling it with wet heat, plastering her bangs to her forehead. Sumire shifted, but she only had two inches to work with on either side, and her shoulders scraped against the invisible walls. She wanted to sit up, her back ached already, but she could barely lift her head before she hit the coffin lid, creaking faintly from the weight of the soil above.

She swallowed a whimper, flexed her fingers, tried to think. It was hard. In such a small space, with so little to see and feel, you’d think she’d have plenty of neurons to devote to strategizing. Not so. Every inch of her brain whirred audibly in her skull, at odds with itself, trying to simultaneously run escape routes and figure out where she was and wonder where the others were and work out, above all, how this had happened.

She snagged that train of thought as it passed and let it carry her forward. Where was the Palace? How had they wound up here? She kept thinking _they_ ; were the others here at all?

“Everyone?” she shouted, wincing when her voice fell flat against her confines. “Can anybody hear me? Hello?”

She held her breath, but all she could hear was her own heart beating like a timpani.

Sumire took a deep breath, in, two, three, four; and let it out, two, three, four. That was a bit better. No matter what was happening, the fact was, she was trapped. She had to get out.

She thumped on the lid, looking for soft spots. There: just above her chest, the wood yielded an inch to the side of her fist.

Breathe in, two, three, four; out, two, three, four.

Sumire drew her arm back and slammed the heel of her hand into the weak point. Felt the particleboard buckle.

Breathe in, two, three, four; out, two, three, four.

Strike again. The lid groaned.

Breathe in, two, three, four; out, two, three, four.

Again—

This time, she was rewarded with a _crack._ She enjoyed an instant of wild triumph before the dread came roaring back, sticking her tongue to the roof of her mouth: hissing through the split in the wood, soaking her shirt, was clammy, sludgy water. The stream was small but steady, already forming a pool beneath her.

Sumire indulged in a few more precious moments of panic before she got her racing heart and head under control. No more slow and steady; she had to get out _now_. At least she didn’t have to worry about being crushed by dirt anymore. (Just about drowning.)

“Ella,” she said. “ _Brave Blade_!”

Her back arched as a gash opened across it, stinging from the dirty water, and Ella manifested, bursting the coffin at the seams. Mud and murk flooded across Sumire’s body; she had just enough time to gulp a breath before it covered her face; she kicked out, up, clawing through quicksand, striving for the surface. A surface. Any surface. There had to be one somewhere, right? God, oh god, there was the panic again, it’s okay, you can hold your breath longer than you think, push through, focus, focus—her ribs compressed, her throat constricted, she burned to breathe—her shoulders and thighs burned too as she dragged herself upward, eyes squeezed shut against the muck, eyelashes prickling—

Too slow. She was going too slow. Her head was going to explode. _Ella_ , she thought, reaching for her. _Ella, Ella, Ella—Kasumi—help me—_

A strong, warm hand closed around Sumire’s wrist and pulled, almost wrenching her arm from its socket; but it was worth the rush of pain, because suddenly Sumire’s clothes were clinging to her skin and icy wind was biting into her bones, and when she opened her mouth to gasp she inhaled the scum coating her lips. Coughing, she sprawled on her stomach, sucking in air, air, air.

When she’d recovered enough to sit up and wipe her eyes, she looked around. She was in a swampy graveyard. Massive dragonflies flitted between towering willow trees that trailed their branches in grey water; rotting tombstones and monuments jutted out of damp, marshy earth, covered in moss and crawling with pale mites.

Sumire got her knees underneath her, grimacing at the squelch of her stockings, and rose. She must have been in the Metaverse, or something like it, so why wasn’t she dressed as Violet?

“Everyone?” she called. “Is anyone else here? Haru? Morgana? Akechi?”

Her voice didn’t echo. The dragonflies paid her no mind.

Where were they? Her stomach swooped: were they buried, too? How was she supposed to find them? Maybe—maybe she could tell which graves were fresh? It was worth a try, at least. Wrapping her arms around herself, like that would block out the chill, Sumire stumbled toward the nearest tombstone.

***

Yu awoke to an entirely different scene.

He was standing in his living room, in Inaba. For a split second, he forgot why this was a bad thing. It was good to be home. It felt like he’d been gone for weeks, not days—

—gone because of Mitsuo Kubo, who had murdered Ren, who had slandered Yu and Yosuke and Makoto Yuki and would do the same to all of their friends; because of Nyarlathotep, who was _here_.

“What is this?” Yu demanded, turning around. “Where’s the Palace?”

“Palace?” Nyarlathotep purred. He was humanoid, dressed in a white suit over a red shirt and black tie, his hands clasped behind his back. His hair was slicked thickly to the top of his head, and his red eyes gleamed. “What Palace?”

“Kubo’s Palace.”

“Kubo never had a Palace,” Nyarlathotep replied. Yu stiffened. “Persona users don’t have Shadows. _You_ should have known that, Yu Narukami. Of all people.”

He was right. Yu should have known.

“It was a trap,” Yu said, clenching his shaking fingers into fists.

Nyarlathotep grinned. “Yes. It’s a shame you didn’t realize it sooner. I was almost looking forward to a fight.”

“Where are the others?”

Nyarlathotep cocked his head, smirked, padded past Yu to survey the rest of the room: the battered sofa, the scratched chabudai, the TV that was way older than it had any right to be (but still worked, and so why buy a new one?).

“You have a lovely home,” he remarked. “It doesn’t look like this in reality, of course. Kubo’s fans have been at it.”

“Where are,” Yu repeated, “the others.”

“Elsewhere. You’ll see them soon enough.”

“I want to see them now.”

“Not until we’ve had a chance to talk.” Nyarlathotep picked up a framed photo of Nanako, dusted it with his sleeve. “I don’t want them interrupting us.”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.” Yu reached for Izanagi but, as expected, ran into a brick wall. His sword was nowhere in evidence, either. “Give me my weapons back.”

Nyarlathotep eyed Yu over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth quirking upward to reveal pointed teeth. “No.”

“I thought you wanted to fight.”

“Not yet,” the god said, setting Nanako’s picture down. “I’ve never been one to waste a potential asset, Yu Narukami, and you are quite an asset.” Yu scowled; Nyarlathotep smiled even wider. “I thought perhaps we could make a deal.”

***

Makoto Yuki woke up more alone than he’d been in a long time.

He was in the dark, but not in darkness. When he looked down, he could see himself, blue blazer over white T-shirt and dark-wash jeans. His feet dangled over the same void that surrounded the rest of him. He had no Evoker. No sword. When he reached for Messiah, Orpheus, Thanatos, no one stirred. Nobody came. Snow bloomed in his fingertips, his ears, his nose.

He was beginning to wonder if he should call out, see if anything was listening, when he felt gravity kick back in. All at once, he landed lightly on a solid surface. A massive eye, twice as tall as him and ten times as red, opened in the endless blackness.

“Makoto Yuki,” said a voice in his head, so loud that he winced and covered his ears. “We haven’t yet had the pleasure. My name is Nyarlathotep.”

The volume jangled Makoto’s nerves; his skin might have been peeling apart. Nyarlathotep snorted.

“Is this better?” he asked in a more normal voice, and when Makoto looked up, a man in a white suit was standing in front of him instead.

“Yes,” Makoto replied, lowering his hands. “Where am I?”

“At the moment, nowhere.”

“Where are my friends?”

“Nowhere. I thought it best that we speak privately.”

Makoto didn’t answer. It didn’t seem necessary.

Nyarlathotep continued, “I wanted to do you a favor. I know you’re not generally one to charge blindly into conflict. You prefer to know the consequences, weigh the outcomes, of your actions. I’d like to give you that chance now, before we proceed past a point of no return.”

“Fine,” Makoto said. Whatever it took to get him out of here alive.

Nyarlathotep smiled. “Excellent.”

***

After both an eternity and an instant, the silvery mist surrounding Akechi and Lavenza parted. He stood beneath a blanket of stars, upon a bed of fine golden sand. Great clouds of dust swirled before him, all but obscuring the faint outlines of dunes cascading into the distance. He looked around, squinting as a gust of wind threw grit into his eyes, and alighted upon a figure silhouetted against the dunes.

It was Philemon.

Akechi had only ever known him as Jose, so he couldn’t have said why he recognized him now. He was certainly distinctive; Akechi would have remembered meeting him before, especially with that ridiculous mask. No one was ever allowed to ridicule Akechi’s costumes again.

“Goro Akechi,” Philemon said.

“Why does every god want to call me that?” Akechi asked the air. “I have three names: Trickster, Crow, and Akechi. Pick one.”

Philemon smiled, and for a heart-stopping—and then infuriating—moment, he looked like Ren. “Noted. Anyway, welcome. I’m glad Lavenza found you so quickly.”

“Yes, it seems to be rather urgent,” Akechi replied, crossing his arms. “What am I doing here? Where is Ren?”

Philemon motioned behind him, at the roaring sand. “In there. The Sea of Souls.”

“And you haven’t retrieved him because..?”

“He won’t make himself known to me.”

“You’re a god. From the sound of it, you might be _the_ god. Shouldn’t you be able to find one soul?”

“In theory,” Philemon said. “But you know better than anyone that Ren can be rather...elusive.”

Akechi had nothing to say to that, and resented it very much.

“These are the stakes,” Philemon continued. “Every person’s soul, upon their death, joins the Sea of Souls for a short period of time. They wander this place until they find the courage to move on, or lose the will to resist.” Akechi felt a chill. “At that time, their soul either returns to Earth, reincarnated into a new body, or becomes a cognitive being. A Persona. Ren is right at the edge of that transition. I can’t locate him, and neither can Lavenza, but you—”

“We have a unique bond,” Akechi interrupted. “I understand. So I just have to find him.”

“Find him, and convince him to come out,” Philemon said.

“Not a problem.”

Philemon nodded. “I have faith in you. But I’ll warn you: there are souls in there that will attack you on sight. You can summon your Personas, but these beings are more than capable of destroying them. If they destroy all of them—”

“I’ll die,” Akechi said, rolling his shoulders. “Right?”

“Worse than that,” Philemon said. “Your soul will disappear. Your cycle will end.”

Akechi narrowed his eyes, looked away. “I’ll be careful. Can I go now?”

Philemon stepped aside, gestured grandly. Lavenza caught Akechi’s hand and pressed it. “May luck be on your side,” she said.

He inclined his head toward her, turned, and walked into the Sea of Souls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I genuinely think it’s significant that Ren has never signed the contract (unless he did so in Scramble, localization when?). Yaldabaoth talks about a contract, but he never offers Ren one, and Ren never signs anything for him. The player names Ren when he signs his _confession_ , which, frankly, calls the whole act of “naming” him into question. Why would he give the cops his real name?
> 
> Anyway. Philemon’s not wrong: Ren’s bargain has never been with him. I like to think that’s why Ren and the Thieves wear masks and costumes in the cognitive world. It’s not just about Palace rulers rejecting them; it’s about the fact that they’re not supposed to be in the Metaverse at all. They haven’t been invited. They’re rebels by default, invaders by default, and that’s reflected in their clothes. See also: the fact that Yu and company wear regular clothes in the Shadow World in P4A/AU, but the Shadow Operatives, who weren’t invited to Sho’s party, wear weird outfits.
> 
> have I thought too much about this? yes. shhhhhh.


	13. Thus Always to Tyrants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence, transphobia, aggressive heteronormativity, persona 4 spoilers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ga0ojr2m31Y)
> 
> [_I will look for you as the sun rises higher_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ga0ojr2m31Y)
> 
> [
> 
> _When the dry bones dance with the timbrel and lyre_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ga0ojr2m31Y)

Yu, still standing in Nyarlathotep’s facsimile of his house, set his jaw.

“No,” he said. “I told you, I’m not interested.”

Nyarlathotep cocked his head. “Well. Maybe it isn’t about you.”

And then Yosuke was there, sitting at the chabudai with one arm draped across the couch behind him. His eyes were on his phone, half-focused, his thumb idly scrolling. Yu stared at him.

“Yosuke?”

Yosuke blinked, looked up, smiled not quite at Yu. “Hey, Partner,” he said, setting down his phone. “Long day?”

“Getting better,” said Yu’s voice, and every inch of Yu’s skin tingled as a copy of himself, as real and solid as Yosuke seemed, phased through him and walked across the room. It was incredibly disorienting, looking at his own back, his own shoulders, never glimpsed from this perspective. He hadn’t realized how much he looked like his uncle now. He still had his mother’s silver hair, her light eyes, but otherwise—

His doppelganger knelt, curled its fingers around the back of Yosuke’s neck, and kissed him. Something hot and shameful thrilled through Yu at the sight; he forced himself to look away, at the wall, at the floor, his ears burning.

“I know this isn’t real,” he said.

“You do,” Nyarlathotep replied. “But does Yosuke?”

Yosuke made a bright, eager sound, and Yu turned completely around, focusing on the smirking god.

“There’s nothing you can say that will convince me to side with you,” Yu said. “Nothing.”

Nyarlathotep’s smirk grew into a smile.

“He seems happy,” he remarked, tilting his head to look past Yu, at whatever Yu’s shadow self was doing to his partner. “On the surface. They all do.”

“Who’s _they_?”

“Your friends. They’re all...content. Settled. But have they achieved their true potential?” Nyarlathotep cut Yu a glance. “Did you do everything you could to help them?”

Yu frowned. “They made their choices.”

“Yes. As teenagers. Your partner, for example.” When Nyarlathotep smiled again, his teeth shone as wetly as the noises being pulled from Yosuke. “When you met him, he wanted to get out of Inaba. He wanted to be loved by the world. To matter.”

“He does matter,” Yu said.

“To you. To your friends. But to everyone else? He’s a side character. A store manager at Junes in a podunk town. Infinitely forgettable. Sometimes he wonders what he could have done with his life, if not for you. If he hadn’t let you talk him into staying here.”

Something sticky lodged in Yu’s throat. “That’s not true.”

“How do you know? Have you ever asked him?”

“He would have told me,” Yu said, drawing himself up, pleased to note that he was a couple of inches taller than Nyarlathotep. “He _should_ have told me. Besides, I didn’t talk him into it. I let him make his own decision.”

Before Yu’s eyes, Nyarlathotep grew several inches, until he could look down on Yu with that smug sneer. “You let him decide to stay in Inaba,” he said, “where you could always find him. If he’d gone to Tokyo, if he’d pursued a life in the big city, he might have wiggled out of your grasp. And then you would have been alone.”

Yu’s voice failed him.

“Would you like to see what he could have been, if not for you? _Who_ he could have been, without you weighing him down?”

The penny dropped, and the fog that had been filling Yu’s head cleared.

“If this didn’t work on Ren,” he said, “what makes you think it’ll work on me?”

Nyarlathotep’s eyes narrowed slightly, and his sneer curdled into something uglier. “Ren Amamiya,” he said, with hateful relish, “was much more selfish than you. He was all too happy to twist other people into new shapes to fit his needs. You, though...you were always scared that if you pushed too hard, they’d leave you. You needed them to need you. Yosuke especially.”

“That’s not true,” Yu repeated, and now he believed it. Now he _knew_ it. “I’m not responsible for Yosuke’s choices. I trust him. If he’s not happy, he has the power to change. And I’ll help him do it.”

Behind Yu, Yosuke gasped like he’d been doused with cold water. Yu started to turn—

—and the scene changed. Now he and Nyarlathotep were standing in Naoto’s living room. Kanji was perched on the couch, sitting forward, eyes fixed on the TV but hands fiddling restlessly with his phone. His knee bounced up and down, heel tapping a rapid rhythm on the floor. Naoto stood nearby, blinking around the room in obvious confusion.

“They can’t hear you,” Nyarlathotep said, before Yu could open his mouth. “Or each other.”

“What’s the angle here, then?” Yu asked, eyeing him. “Did I fail them too? Are they miserable too?”

The god chuckled. “Something like that.”

***

The darkness surrounding Makoto Yuki dissipated so suddenly that he blinked stars from his eyes.

He was standing...in Yukari’s apartment, a place he hadn’t visited much. He looked around at the awards hanging above the electric fireplace; the Featherman mask on a bust in the corner; the squashy, overstuffed furniture, comfy and cozy—

—and Yukari herself, slumped on the couch, her eyes dull and staring.

“Yukari,” Makoto said.

She didn’t respond. His throat constricted.

Straining against the lead clutched tight around his ankles, he went to her, reached out to touch her. But he didn’t have to. Even from an inch away, he could tell that she was cold.

No, he thought.

Through the ringing in his ears, Makoto registered a steady dripping. He turned.

Mitsuru sat on one of the barstools at the kitchen counter. She was slumped forward, her head pillowed on her arms, the contents of her overturned coffee mug steadily soaking her sleeves and trickling onto the floor.

A chunk of ice lodged in Makoto’s chest. He staggered over to her, once again reaching out to confirm what he already knew. In doing so, he nearly tripped over Fuuka, sprawled on her side with her hair draped across her face.

“They’re dead,” Nyarlathotep said, behind him.

Makoto slipped in the spilled coffee, caught himself on the edge of the counter.

“How,” he whispered.

“I killed them, of course. I had to,” Nyarlathotep added, almost sadly. “I had to punish you for defying me.”

The ice behind Makoto’s sternum expanded, spreading frost across his ribs, into his throat.

Nyarlathotep’s footsteps echoed faintly as he paced closer. “It wasn’t difficult. I decided they were dead, and so they died. Just like that. Humans like to assign logic to death; they like to have someone or something to blame. Faulty construction. Reckless behavior. Murderous intent. The truth is, death is random, and sudden, and cruel.”

Makoto’s fingers were white on the countertop.

“Which you know very well,” Nyarlathotep said, “cursed as you were. You carried death with you for years, and it touched everyone you did. And now it’s touched your friends, because you stood against me.”

“But I haven’t,” said Makoto, “yet.”

Nyarlathotep smiled, and said, “Shall we check in with the others?”

***

As soon as Akechi crossed the threshold into the Sea of Souls, he was engulfed in a stinging golden haze. Dust clouded his vision, clogged his nostrils, coated his throat; it blurred the desert into the vaguest of shapes, the shadowy suggestion of dunes cresting like waves all around him. The heat beat hammers against his shoulders, soaking the back of his neck, but he couldn’t see the sun.

His Metaverse outfit had manifested: a domino mask, red on black; a scarlet tunic over maroon trousers, inlaid with discolored chainmail links; black riding gloves; knee-high boots; old, tarnished sword and black pistol. It was unbearably hot, the mask in particular slicking his skin with sweat, but he was glad to have it anyway. Better some armor than none.

At first, he simply walked, holding up his arm to protect his face, occasionally stopping to spit sand and wishing that he’d thought to ask Lavenza for water. He’d been so anxious to find Ren that he hadn’t considered his situation, and now he was paying for it with grit in his teeth and sweat trickling down his back.

Speaking of finding Ren...how exactly was he supposed to do that? He _would_ do that, of course, but...he couldn’t _sense_ him, or anything. He couldn’t see much; could hear nothing but the roaring wind. None of his Personas, when pressed, offered any ideas. Was he supposed to wander around until they stumbled into each other? Was this a test? If he had enough _faith_ , would Ren appear?

If that was the game, Akechi was the wrong player. Over the past decade and a half, Akechi had let himself believe that life could work out in your favor, sometimes, if you found someone you could trust. He’d trusted Ren. He’d had faith in Ren. Ren hadn’t let him down, but the whims of the universe definitely had.

Akechi stopped. He was thinking in circles, and pretty sure he was walking in them too. “Ren,” he rasped, and coughed, and spat. “ _Ren_. Where are you?”

High above him, the sun came out. No: not exactly: it was moving, shrinking as it descended. Tensing, Akechi gripped his sword, but gradually the light resolved into broad, beating wings; a fanlike tail; and scaly toes hooked with sharp talons to match an equally sharp beak. All of this was visible only through Akechi’s eyelashes; the glow emanating from the hawklike creature’s chest was too bright to bear.

 _Horus,_ said a muffled voice in Akechi’s mind. His heart swelled.

“Take me to him,” he ordered.

The bird swept around in a great arc and flew off. Akechi followed it, running to keep up, his throat and lungs burning as he inhaled the grit and ash still thick in the air. More than once, he scrambled frantically over a dune and straightened up half-expecting the Persona to be gone; but every time, he found it circling patiently, waiting for him to catch his breath before it set out again.

Before long, Akechi’s knees and thighs ached and his tunic stuck to his skin. He’d kept up biking and bouldering since his school days, but that clearly didn’t compare to his time spent exploring the Metaverse. Certainly it didn’t make crossing this difficult terrain any easier.

Akechi felt the threatening rumble in the earth with only seconds to spare. He skidded to a halt, touched his mask, and said, “Robin Hood! _Kougaon_!”

His opponent, bursting from the ground with a wild cackle, was immediately engulfed in white light. It screeched, twisting in on itself; but when Akechi tried to slip past it, it lashed out with a glittering silver sword, forcing him backward. Cursing, he scanned the sky. Horus was gone.

“Motherfucker,” Akechi snarled. “I’ll kill you!”

The creature, straightening up to its full and formidable height, cackled again. Akechi had encountered it in Mementos often enough to recognize it: the black robe embossed with a red sun; the blue, skull-like head; the purple mushrooms sprouting from its scalp and around its feet. Chernobog. Weak to Fire, and to Bless. Against Robin Hood, it didn’t stand a chance.

It levied another strike at Akechi, who dodged so narrowly that he felt the air ripple against his shoulder. “ _Kougaon_ ,” he snapped, but Chernobog descended into the ground, and the blast left a scorch on the sand. Akechi waited, focusing, searching for the vibration beneath his feet. _There_. He sprang sideways, lost his balance, rolled and leapt up as Chernobog emerged and leveled an arc of Physical energy at him.

Robin Hood dove down to take the blow. The yellow light bit into the Persona’s waist, much _much_ stronger than it should have been, and sliced clean through him.

Akechi’s heart stopped. Robin Hood hung there for a moment, almost cartoonish, severed in half without blood or gore. Then his arms dropped to his sides, his head fell forward, and he splintered into a thousand points of light.

Akechi fell to one knee, wheezing, black spots blooming across his vision. Chernobog advanced, rippling unpleasantly, and lifted its sword over its head.

Akechi recovered just in time. He drew his own sword and swung it up to block the blow; the force of the impact radiated down his arms. He was sure he heard the steel groan. Getting his feet underneath him, he surged forward, upward, forcing Chernobog back, its raw strength nothing compared to his; with a final shove he sent it staggering, and lunged, and slashed through its neck. It shrieked, head bouncing across the sand; its vestigial mushrooms writhed; and then it vanished, dissolving into a puff of smoke.

Akechi thrust his sword into the ground and leaned on it, his mouth sour, his skin crawling. Inside him, where Robin Hood had been, was a raw, gaping emptiness like the bloodied root of an extracted tooth. Thinking about it, probing it, made his stomach seize; he doubled over and vomited.

When he finally straightened up again, wiping his face on his sleeve, he heard the rustle of feathers, and then a hoarse, croaking voice: “ _Goro. Goro_.”

Akechi spun around. Behind him, a gnarled tree, little more than a sapling, had sprung up out of the ground. Perched on one naked branch was a massive black bird. It cocked its head, stared at him through one shining eye. “ _Goro_ ,” it said. “ _Goro_.”

 _Yatagarasu,_ said Ren’s voice, from a great distance. Akechi’s spine straightened.

“Take me to him,” he said, sheathing his sword, and the black bird bowed its head and spread its wings.

***

Back in Kanji and Naoto’s living room, Nyarlathotep said, “None of your friends are _miserable_ , Yu Narukami. Yet, anyway. You know better than anyone how mild resentments can fester into something far worse.” Yu tensed, crossing his arms more tightly against his chest. “And how fear can poison a relationship.”

“If Kanji and Naoto are afraid of anything,” Yu said, “it’s you.”

Nyarlathotep laughed. “You flatter me! But I’m not talking about myself. I’m talking about them. They’re afraid of _each other_.”

Kanji’s hands stilled; Naoto lifted their chin sharply.

“You must have noticed the tension between them,” Nyarlathotep continued.

“No,” Yu said, but Nyarlathotep ignored him.

“Kanji has never really decided what he wants,” he said, “and Naoto has never decided what they are. They are, both of them, stuck somewhere in the middle, afraid to push each other too far to one side or the other. For Kanji, it’s convenient that Naoto is constantly fluctuating between male, female, and other.” Yu’s scalp prickled with a flush of outrage. “He’s never been able to decide what he’d like best. How nice that his spouse can scratch all of his itches at once.”

The color drained from Kanji’s face; he leaned further forward, tightening his grip on his phone.

“And for Naoto,” Nyarlathotep said, “Kanji’s unpredictable preferences mean that they can never choose what they want to be, once and for all. A man? A woman? Both? Neither? Who knows? What if they pick the wrong thing, and Kanji is disgusted by them? Better not to decide. Safer that way.”

Naoto’s nails dug into their palms. They squeezed their eyes shut, lowered their head.

Nyarlathotep opened his mouth, probably to explain why all of this was Yu’s fault, but Yu cut him off.

“ _If_ that were true,” Yu said, “Kanji and Naoto love and trust each other enough to talk about it. If they haven’t done that yet, it’s because they’re not ready. When they are, they will. But they don’t have to, because you’re wrong.”

Naoto blinked, relaxed. Kanji sat up straight, his expression clearing. Clucking his tongue, Nyarlathotep flicked his hand and whisked Yu away.

Yu landed—really landed, so hard that he staggered—in a recording studio, all towering machines and flickering lights. Amongst these, Rise was bent over a keyboard, frowning as she plinked out a melody.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” Yu asked. “You can’t break me this way.”

Nyarlathotep leveled an appraising stare at him. It seemed to rove beneath his skin, sliding like cold steel between tendon and muscle. Yu stood firm, feet braced, shoulders square.

“I can’t, can I,” said Nyarlathotep at last. “Fine. Let’s play hardball.”

And they shifted once more. For the first time since Yu had caught on to the rules of the game, his tongue shriveled, rolled back to lodge in his throat.

He was standing in front of Nanako, who sat at her kitchen table, watching Hayato play.

***

Makoto found himself inside a shadowy bedroom. Dimly, through the gloom, he could make out a long, low dresser; heavy curtains on the far wall; a four poster bed directly in front of him. Suddenly Nyarlathotep was there, white suit stark in the shadows. He nodded at Makoto, gripped the curtains, and threw them open.

Sunshine flooded in through a massive window, illuminating—yes—the bed, dressed in white sheets; the dresser, white with black accents; pictures on the walls; a baseball bat propped in the corner. And beneath the sheets, he on his back and she on her side, were Junpei and Chidori.

They weren’t sleeping.

Staggering backward, Makoto jarred his spine against a doorknob, turned it, tumbled into a hallway. It was dark in here too, but Nyarlathotep flipped a switch, revealing Ken folded up on the floor and Akihiko collapsed by the front door. Makoto couldn’t feel his hands, his legs. Somehow he found his feet, leaned on the wall, stood frozen. Where could he go? What would be waiting for him there?

A push between his shoulderblades propelled him forward, sideways, into the backyard, where Shinji—the new Shinji, not the old one, long dead—was facedown on the porch, his phone broken beside him. Take laid on his back a couple of feet away, and as Makoto watched, a beetle climbed up his cheek and across his glazed eyes—

“Stop,” Makoto croaked, barely a whisper, a breath. “Stop it.”

“It’s not _happening_ , Makoto Yuki,” said Nyarlathotep, very close. “It’s already happened.”

And then Makoto was somewhere else. Another hallway, achingly familiar. Terribly familiar. The door before him was familiar too, except dark and forbidding where it had always been bright and inviting.

“Go on,” Nyarlathotep said. “Open it.”

***

Akechi was tired, and mad about it.

Completely apart from the physical exhaustion, losing Robin Hood had opened up a kind of psychic wound inside him, bleeding his energy in a steady stream. Which was ridiculous. He hadn’t liked Robin Hood, had barely used him except to trick the Phantom Thieves. He’d eventually accepted the part of his soul that the Persona represented, but that had only served to awaken first Hereward and then Mordred. Akechi still had both of them, as well as Loki; why should Robin Hood’s destruction hurt so much?

But it did. It was a constant, grinding ache that he couldn’t talk himself out of or ignore, any more than he could ignore the sparkling pain in his hips and knees as he labored across the sand. Thus the anger, which was at least a welcome distraction, a bit to chomp at.

It wasn’t so distracting, though, that he didn’t hear the next enemy coming, screeching like a falling missile. Akechi stopped again, gritting his teeth, and flung himself out of the way of a giant golden coffin. He meant to backflip, to push lightly off of one hand and land quick and nimble; instead his feet went out from under him and he landed on his ass.

He’d never seen this Persona before, but he could tell it was bad news, from its single gleaming eye to the grinning man engraved on its surface. Thunder snapped across the sky; a pocket of golden clouds turned gray, then black, and then split open to rain blue lightning all around Akechi. Growling, he sprinted out of the area of effect and summoned Loki. “ _Eigaon_!”

The reddish-black light rebounded off the gleaming coffin, rippled back toward Akechi, dissipated. No Curse skills, then. That probably meant it was weak to Bless, but he didn’t have anyone who could use that. (Anymore.) So—

“ _Laevateinn_!” Akechi bellowed, and instantly regretted it. Loki leveled a blast of Physical light at the beast, cracking its surface; but the answering echo tore open Akechi’s side, scraping against his ribs, making his vision flicker. He screamed. It shouldn’t have hurt that much, but _shouldn’t have_ seemed to be a running theme here, and as the agony faded to an ache, Akechi tried to think. No Physical skills. No Curse. His sword wouldn’t be as effective as his Personas. Hereward, then, or Mordred; they both had Rebellion Blade—

The coffin creaked open, and a small, borderline skeletal hand popped out and waggled its fingers. Nothing happened, but Akechi felt the rush of power: it had upped its attack significantly. He couldn’t let it hit him.

“Hereward,” he hissed, “ _Rebellion Blade_!”

Two things happened at once. Hereward appeared, nocked an arrow, fired it into the coffin in an Almighty blow that left a violet streak across Akechi’s vision. At the same time, a bruised cloud bloomed once more above Akechi’s head, and before he could move, a single arc of blue lightning struck Hereward full in the chest.

Akechi woke up. His eyelids parted reluctantly, caked together by the damp sand clinging to his eyelashes. When he tried to swallow, his dry throat rebelled, and he had to cough and spit out the mucus coating his mouth instead. Slowly, giving his howling muscles ample time to protest, he got his elbows underneath him, drew up his knees, pushed himself first into a sitting position and then into a standing one. Sand cascaded off of him in waves.

The coffin was gone, but so was Hereward. He’d left behind a deeper, duller emptiness to match the one from Robin Hood: almost a scar, but not quite. Akechi stood there clutching his side, the heat of his own blood soaking through his glove to sear his palm. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to do most things. He didn’t quite trust himself to move.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye. Tensing, Akechi turned to look, and saw a long, sinuous shape gliding through the sand. As soon as it sensed Akechi’s gaze, the thing raised an angular head at the end of a serpentine body. A pair of white wings snapped out of silver scales, catching a gust of warm air; the Persona lifted off and gained altitude, opening its mouth to reveal four glistening fangs.

 _Quetzalcoatl_ , Akechi heard, a little stronger, a little louder.

He stumbled forward; he couldn’t run. “Wait for me,” he panted. “I’m coming.”

***

Nanako, eyes soft and amused, rested her chin in her hand while she watched Hayato bang two plastic cups together. With her other hand, she tapped a pen restlessly against the tabletop.

“What are we doing here,” Yu said, trying and failing to keep the venom out of his voice.

“There it is,” Nyarlathotep said, slick and oily. “That famed Wild Card ferocity.”

“ _What_. Are we _doing_. Here.”

The god circled around behind Nanako, studying her. Yu clenched his fists, wrestling the urge to leap at him, to grab his collar and drag him away.

“You keep saying you’re not responsible,” Nyarlathotep said. “Your friends made choices. Yosuke made choices. You’re right. But what about her? What choice did she have?”

Yu could have spit nails. “What are you talking—”

“Weren’t you responsible for her, back then? Weren’t you supposed to protect her?”

A trapdoor opened in Yu’s stomach, dropping the entire contents of his body into his feet.

Nyarlathotep eyed Hayato, who was babbling merrily to himself. He held his cups out toward Nanako and said, “Ca!”

Nanako smiled. “Cup.”

“Ca,” said Hayato, as if in agreement.

As soon as Hayato looked away, Nanako’s brow knitted, and the pen in her hand tap-tap-tapped faster.

“She wanted a baby,” Nyarlathotep said softly, almost tenderly. “A child she could call her own.”

She has Hayato, Yu meant to say, but his lips wouldn’t move. Nyarlathotep seemed to hear him anyway.

“Yes, and she loves him,” the god said, shrugging. “But it’s not the same, is it? Not quite. She wanted to _give birth_ to a child. Someone who would look like her, and like her mother. Someone who could carry on her legacy. She still wants that.”

The pen stopped moving. Nanako glanced at the clock over the stove, frowning, clearly worried about Ken, wondering how the fight was going. Wondering when he’d be home, and safe.

“You know,” said Nyarlathotep, “why she can’t have it.”

Every word traced a blade across the surface of Yu’s heart.

“She went into the Shadow World,” Nyarlathotep said. “She died. She came back. But there was a price, even if it didn’t become apparent until years later. A price she paid for _your_ failure. If you had stopped Namatame, if you had seen Adachi for what he really was—” Yu felt a chill on the back of his neck—“if you had _uncovered the truth_ sooner, she’d be different now. She’d be whole.”

Yu knew that.

Ken and Nanako had been very clear, going into their marriage, that they wanted children, and lots of them. There was something poetic about it, this pair who had lost their mothers vowing to the world and to each other that they would become parents themselves, that they would bear love and life out of their own grief. And there was something poetic, in a darker sense, when it didn’t happen and didn’t happen and didn’t happen. When Yu got the initial phone calls, bright and excited; and then the follow-ups, a few weeks later, downcast, disappointed. When the calls stopped coming at all. When both Ken and Nanako seemed to withdraw deeper into themselves, when every visit was marked by strained, desolate silence, ringing with the ghostly voices of people who weren’t there. Who had never been.

None of the doctors had been able to explain it, even after dozens of tests. _Sometimes this is just how it is_ , one of them had told Nanako. But Yu had known the reason. He’d never voiced his suspicion; he’d kept it close to his chest, pretended he was shielding Nanako when he was really shielding himself. From the blame.

In the end, Makoto Yuki and Dojima had convinced the two of them to seek the counseling they needed. They came out of it stronger. They submitted an adoption application, matched with Hayato, brought him home. “I’ve been crying for days,” Nanako had confided to Yu, wiping her eyes. “I’m just so _happy_.”

“She could be whole,” Nyarlathotep said, “still.”

Yu closed his eyes. There it was. The offer. The cost. Your soul, all the world’s souls, for one person’s joy. Your sister’s joy.

Your sister, who had experienced so much suffering because of you.

“So,” Nyarlathotep said. “What’ll it be?”

***

“Go on,” Nyarlathotep purred, so close to Makoto’s ear that he flinched. “Open the door.”

“No.”

Nyarlathotep laughed. “You can’t hide from this, Makoto Yuki.”

He didn’t have to. He knew what was in there.

 _Who_ was in there.

The knowledge was an enormous pressure inside his head, radiating pain like hairline fractures across his skull. The rest of him was numb. Paralyzed. If he moved, he was sure his limbs would break, that the ice limning his muscles would shatter like so much glass. He didn’t think he was breathing. He didn’t think he wanted to.

But it happened anyway. The door opened, all on its own, and the last of the feeling left Makoto’s body.

Aigis.

She was sitting on the ground beside their bed, propped against the mattress. The comforter was rumpled, pushed back as though she’d just woken up; one corner dangled across the top of her head. Her eyes were closed.

Had Makoto looked like that, when—

Makoto realized he was moving, approaching her, sinking to the floor to sit in front of her. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t talk. He just sat, and stared and stared and stared.

“You were numb once,” said Nyarlathotep, beside him. “Not exactly happy, but...safe. Insulated. Wouldn’t you like to feel that way again?”

Makoto deflated.

“Wouldn’t everyone like to feel that way?” the god mused. “There’s so much pain in the world. So much loss. It’s unbearable, but it doesn’t have to be. Sorrow, worry, guilt, regret—I could take them away, for you and for everyone. I’d be glad to do that. All you have to do is ask.”

***

Akechi hadn’t gone far when a high-pitched giggle, behind him, made his hair stand on end. Cursing, he started to turn, knowing he was too late even before he met Alice’s pale blue eyes, saw her vicious grin, registered the cloud of dark energy zooming toward him.

Loki billowed up between them and took the hit.

It was an insta-kill. Akechi’s lungs contracted and his heart stuttered as Loki tipped his face upward and disintegrated.

Akechi lost it. He hadn’t lost it in years but he hadn’t forgotten what it felt like, which was _good,_ a rush of adrenaline that left his brain spinning in his skull as he launched himself at the ghostly little girl. He emptied his pistol, missed every shot, threw it at her smirking face and watched it strike her mouth, watched blood trickle down her chin. He scythed through the air with his sword, left right up down jab thrust, the rage building to a boil in his veins as she dodged his strikes, as she smiled at him with crimson teeth.

“ _Rebellion Blade_!” he roared. Mordred burst above him like a firecracker and struck Alice across the stomach; she laughed outright, high and shrill; Akechi followed up with twin strikes of his own, first with his sword and then with his fist, swung into a jaw like steel. Alice beamed at him, turned her head, bit his hand.

Snarling, Akechi drove his knee into her gut, doubling her over. But she was still giggling, breathless and wheezing, and so he slammed his elbow into her temple for good measure, flinging her to the ground. Her neck twisted, unnaturally far, to level her smile at him again.

“Finished yet?” she twinkled. “Good.”

She rose up, onto her knees, en pointe, into the air, lifting her arms. She cocked her head, touched her bottom lip.

“Won’t you die for me?” she asked, sweetly, and a bomb went off inside Akechi’s chest.

He saw every color and even some colors that didn’t exist. Bile surged into his throat, into his mouth, burned his tongue; he dropped to his knees and fell forward; he was shaking, seizing, half-sure he could hear himself screaming even if he couldn’t feel it; this was worse than death, worse than torture, just kill him already, let him die, die, die—

When it stopped, Akechi lay there, hollow, trembling. Above him, Mordred brandished his sword, but he was flickering, shining fragments flaking off of him and spiraling away into the golden fog.

“Still alive?” Alice said, hiding another giggle behind her hand. “Oh, dear.”

Akechi forced his arms to move, his elbows groaning, his shoulders grating, bone on bone. He couldn’t stop here. He couldn’t fail. Ren was still—still—

“Poor thing,” Alice purred. “ _Die_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [twitter](https://twitter.com/frockbot)! come and chat


	14. Rabbit Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence, gore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45FjrwlOIJA)
> 
> [_This is a gift; it comes with a price_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45FjrwlOIJA)
> 
> [
> 
> _Who is the lamb, and who is the knife?_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=45FjrwlOIJA)

Maya did what she could, which was practice aikido.

Her body felt lighter, more fluid, than ever before. Ren’s dagger (her dagger, now?) was solid in her hand, its hilt molded to her palm as she jabbed, thrust, and slashed at an imaginary opponent. Sparks winked on the blade from the circular light fixture far above, which, when viewed from one angle, looked like the moon; from another, like a spaceship. Maya was always in the right place at the right time, her arms always loose and open, her hips and shoulders always aligned. Teacher would have been proud of her. Ren would have been proud of her. It was a testament to aikido’s ability to clear her mind that she could think this thought and let it float away without hurting.

Sai dozed in Otome’s lap with her chubby cheek pressed to her chest. (That had bothered Maya, at first, because it reminded her of their mother. Yet another reason why getting up to practice had been a good idea.) Uta was sleeping too, curled up on the couch beside Ryuji, and Mei and Suzume were playing quietly (for once) on the floor.

Ryuji was peppering Otome and Kai with questions. What was Ren like as a kid? Had he always been, y’know, _intense_? He’d done aikido too? Whoa! So that’s how he knew it would—aw, well, Ren had saved his life, of course they were friends. Uh, they knew about that, right? Okay, good. Phew. Ryuji kinda had a big mouth; he’d almost spilled the beans a hundred times—

In one ear, out the other, and good thing, because otherwise Maya would have needed clarification on several points. _Saved your life_? _Knew about what_? What was everyone pointedly not saying? Why was Akechi so sure he could bring Ren back from the dead, when no one had ever offered to do that for Maya’s mother? When everyone had told her point blank that it was impossible? What made Ren and Akechi so special?

Akechi had been gone for two hours. Think the thought, let it go. Maya swayed through a dodge, swung the dagger into an imaginary ribcage.

She didn’t notice the neon-pink shadow that rippled like water beneath her heel, but Ryuji did.

“Hold up,” he said, motioning for quiet. “Maya, stop a second.”

If his tone hadn’t tipped her off, his expression would have: something was wrong. She stood still, watching him get up, frowning, and carefully scan the room. Following his gaze, Maya realized that the color of the light had changed. The sunshine filtering through the floor-to-ceiling window was tinged pink; the fixture overhead was vaguely purple. Everything seemed simultaneously sharper and less distinct, like it was overlaid with or...shadowed by?...a blue filter.

“What’s wrong?” Kai asked quietly.

“You can’t see it?” Maya muttered.

Ryuji blinked at her. “You _can_? Wait, forget it.” He picked up the black morning star lying on the coffee table—hefted it, really, because the muscles in his arms strained against its weight, and it thudded hard on his shoulder when he rested it there. “We gotta go.”

Maya went cold, then hot, tightening her grip on the dagger. Otome swept Uta and Sai against each of her shoulders. Kai scooped Suzume up and took Mei’s hand.

“Where are we going?” Mei asked, bewildered.

“Maya?” Sai said, instantly alert, lifting her head.

“I’m right here,” Maya said. Sai met her gaze, relaxed.

“Out the back,” Ryuji said. “Down the fire esc—”

And then he burst into blue flame. It licked across his skin, giving off not heat but _cold_ , a biting, bone-deep cold that took Maya’s breath away. She jumped; Mei shrieked; Suzume’s eyes widened; Sai and Uta both stared, openmouthed. Only Kai and Otome seemed unsurprised, though not unconcerned: a line appeared between Kai’s eyebrows, and Otome’s mouth went hard and flat.

Maya barely had time to worry that Ryuji was dying before the fire dissipated, leaving behind a new outfit. His sneakers had been replaced with shiny brown and grey oxfords; his jeans with black dress pants, the cuffs rolled up to reveal blue socks dotted with tiny Jolly Rogers; his t-shirt with a grey dress shirt under a black fitted waistcoat. And on his head, obscuring the upper part of his face, was a dark gray skull mask.

“Shit,” he said, and shoved Maya behind him—

—as the window erupted into thousands upon thousands of sparkling shards, scattering across the room like so many diamonds. _Everyone_ cried out at that, the adults twisting to shield the kids from the falling glass; and then Ryuji pushed Maya hard into Otome and barked, “Go!”

And before Maya could comprehend what was happening, Ryuji pivoted, lifted the morning star, and blocked a slash from Mitsuo Kubo. The bone knife screeched against the black metal.

“Aw man,” Kubo said, pouting. “I wanted to cut your mace in half.”

“It’s not a mace,” Ryuji snarled, forcing him backward. “It’s Mjolnir!”

He lifted Mjolnir over his head. Static prickled Maya’s scalp as electricity arced between the weapon’s spikes; but when Ryuji swung it at Kubo, Kubo dodged, darted forward, and jabbed at his stomach. Ryuji skipped out of the way, baring his teeth.

“ _Dad_!” Mei shouted, rushing forward, but Kai hooked his arm around her waist and picked her up.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Maya,” Otome called, already halfway to the fire escape. “Come on!”

But Maya was frozen, watching the flash and gleam of Kubo’s knife. She could see everything. Kubo didn’t know how to use his weapon, not really, not properly, but he didn’t have to. If he managed to land a hit, Ryuji was dead. And Ryuji—he wasn’t fast enough. Every slash missed him by inches, some less than that. One of them even sliced a button off his waistcoat, too close, _too close_ to his abdomen. Maya realized she was holding her breath; her fingers hurt from clutching Ren’s dagger.

She could feel something, some...power sizzling in the air, like the promise of lightning before a storm. Neither of them was using everything at their disposal. Why not? What were they waiting for? What was Ryuji, specifically, waiting for?

 _Oh, my darling_ , said a feminine voice in her head. Her heart skipped a beat. _He’s waiting for you to run away_.

“ _Maya_!” Kai shouted.

 _He knows he can’t beat Kubo_ , the feminine voice added. Every word hammered against Maya’s skull, drilled through flesh and bone and into brain. _But he can buy you time._

Buy them time—

Scowling, Kubo said, “This is taking too long.”

The air shifted, the pain in Maya’s head tripled, and a flabby, white, humanoid _something_ appeared above Kubo. It lifted one noodly arm, which solidified, curved wickedly into a sickle; this it swung at Ryuji, who bellowed, “William!”

In a flash another creature appeared, parrying the white monster’s strike with a gigantic, cannon-like gun. It was—a pirate riding a spaceship like a surfboard—Maya’s head was splitting, her teeth shaking, her vision blurred, she must have been seeing things—none of this made any sense—

“ _Ziodyne_!” Ryuji snapped, and the pirate—William?—threw its head back and pumped its fists. (Well, one fist, and the gun attached to its other wrist.)

Pale lightning rained down from the ceiling, leaving smoking craters all around the room; one of them struck the creature hovering above Kubo, who cried out, more in frustration than pain, and snarled, “Joker, _Agidyne_!”

Joker vibrated, and Ryuji narrowly dodged the column of flame that erupted from the floor. He turned the dodge into a spring, kicking off the wall to launch himself at Kubo, lift the morning star, bring it down—

“No,” Maya gasped, too late.

Kubo grinned.

Mjolnir struck and rebounded off of a transparent barrier; and as confusion and then understanding rippled across Ryuji’s face, Kubo’s knife flashed up, sideways. Blood, _real blood_ , nothing like the red spray in movies, splattered the floor. Ryuji twisted, fell, landed on his shoulder, rolled and got up. He stood there, one eye squeezed shut, panting. Red rivulets traced his arm where it was wrapped around his midsection.

***

“ _No_!” Akechi spat, and Alice’s attack failed.

She blinked, stuck out her bottom lip. “Hmph!”

“I am going,” Akechi growled, getting to his feet, his arms dangling in front of him, “to _kill you_.”

He wanted to leap at her, sink his nails into her joints and twist and tear until her arms came free, until he could wrench her jaw from her skull; but he didn’t have the strength, so instead he said, “Mordred, _Rebellion_ —”

The sky exploded. That was the only way to describe it. It exploded, with a crashing and rumbling like a drumset falling down a flight of stairs, and Akechi saw white not because he had been hit or because he’d passed out but because the sun itself had blazed to life in front of him. It threw the landscape into sharp relief, engulfing Alice in a tornado—no, a pillar of light—no, a burst of blue-green nuclear energy. Dimly, through the impossible blaze, Akechi saw Alice twisting, throwing her head back, opening her mouth in a terrible scream, and finally, finally crumbling to ash.

When the light faded, another Persona was floating there.

It was about as tall as Akechi, with a body made of black chess pieces stacked on top of each other: bishops for calves, rooks for thighs, knights for hips and collarbone, queen and king joined together into a spine, and innumerable pawns of various sizes forming ribs, arms, and bonelike hands with jointed fingers. Resting upon its collar was a golden gorget molded into six overlapping wings: two around its throat, two more fanning across its shoulders, and two sloping down its back like a great metal cape. And set into its head, topped with a crown of gilded feathers, was a clock, ornate hands ticking down hours, minutes, and seconds.

The sight of it was a mouthful of coffee on a cold morning, a drop of liquid chocolate in the center of Akechi’s chest. The gashes crisscrossing his body sealed; the aches and bruises faded. He stood up straight.

“Chronos,” he said.

 _Apollo_ , the Persona answered, looking past him.

Akechi turned. A high wind whipped around him, forcing the sand backward, holding the storm at bay.

Revealing Ren, whose eyes widened.

“Akechi,” he whispered.

***

“No,” Yu said.

Nyarlathotep coughed. “ _No_?”

Yu inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, opened his eyes.

“You don’t know anything about me, do you?” he asked, turning to meet Nyarlathotep’s gaze. “You’re trying the same old tricks without stopping to wonder if they’ll work. Have they ever worked? Have you ever convinced anyone to submit to you? Anyone,” he amended, “who wasn’t already power-hungry and desperate?”

“I encourage you,” Nyarlathotep said, jaw tightening, “to think about what you’re—”

“Of course it’s my fault,” Yu said, advancing on him. “Of course I failed her. If I could go back and change it, I would. But not without talking to her about it first, because _it’s not my call to make_. It never has been.”

Nyarlathotep smirked. “If you’d like to speak to her—”

“You mean, to your version of her? To whatever simpering _thing_ you think she is?” Pressure began to mount inside his head, steam building against the valve of a kettle. “Nanako’s not your bargaining chip. She doesn’t need your help or my pity and she _doesn’t_ need me to shackle her to you, you smug, condescending son of a bitch.”

The Arcana card that appeared before him, spinning rapidly, was embossed with a half-moon on a teal background. Yu’s hand snapped out, closed around it, crushed it. “ _Artemis_ ,” he cried.

He was surrounded by a bright blue light, both familiar and unfamiliar. When it faded, Artemis floated above him, silver bow gleaming in her hand. She was tall, easily as tall as Izanagi, and humanoid, covered almost from head to toe in tree bark so gnarled that it was nearly black. The only exceptions were her face, palms, and the pads of her feet; these were a bright, smooth green like bamboo shoots. Thrusting upward from her scalp were antlers as bowed and crooked as branches, topped with clusters of emerald leaves that rustled as she pivoted to face Nyarlathotep.

Artemis nocked a shining arrow and leveled it at the god, who curled his lip.

“Yes, I see you,” he told her. “I should have left it at _no_.”

Yu opened his mouth—

—and startled as something crashed through the wall behind him. He whirled around, spreading his feet, drawing his sword from his belt—but relaxed when he saw Yosuke standing there, panting.

“Partner,” Yosuke said, starting to smile.

Yu grinned, but didn’t get a chance to answer before everyone else (apart from Kanji) came spilling through in a rush: Teddie in bear form, looking as ferocious as he could; Naoto aiming their gun at Nyarlathotep; Rise hanging back, framed by Kouzeon; Chie and Yukiko summoning Haraedo-no-Okami and Sumeo-Okami, respectively.

“ _Ugh_ ,” Nyarlathotep grumbled. “You are all so predictable.”

“No weaknesses that I can see,” Rise reported, her voice tinny in Yu’s ear. “Let’s hit him with everything we’ve got!”

“Artemis,” Yu said. “ _Crescent Mirror!_ ”

Artemis brought her hands together in front of her stomach, touching fingertips to wrists. A silver mirror appeared in the curve of her palms. Light flashed across its surface, throwing dazzling rainbows throughout the room, and Nyarlathotep had just enough time to roll his eyes before a wall of Almighty energy sliced through him.

By the time Yu blinked away the afterimages, Nyarlathotep was gone. So was Nanako’s house. They all stood in a marshy graveyard, surrounded by half-toppled headstones and massive willow trees. Water sloshed into Yu’s shoes.

Black, shiny leather shoes: he was wearing the suit he’d worn in the Velvet Room, black on black with a yellow carnation in the pocket. Yu started to look around, started to take in everyone else’s outfits, but a cry drew his attention elsewhere: “ _Yu_!”

“Sumire,” said Yukiko, hurrying forward to catch her.

Sumire, at least, was still dressed in ordinary clothes, but she was soaked through, scummy water pouring down her face and sticking her hair to her back. “Everyone,” she gasped, clutching Yukiko’s arms, scanning each of their faces in turn. “Thank goodness. I need your help—the others are—”

“Buried,” Rise exclaimed, touching her visor. “They’re alive, but—in coffins. The water—we have to get them out!”

“Mark them,” Yu ordered.

Nodding, she opened her arms. Kouzeon copied the motion, and a series of glowing spheres detached from its orbit and zoomed across the grass, settling over six graves scattered throughout the swamp.

“Teddie,” Yu said.

“Yeah!” Teddie cried, throwing up his paws.

Kamui-Moshiri winked into view above him, rattled its claws, and swooshed in a tight circle. A tremor rippled through the ground, coating the grass with frost and freezing the water all around them—including, if the cold radiating into Yu’s feet was any indication, the water underground.

“Dig them out,” Yu called over his shoulder, sprinting toward the nearest grave.

***

“No,” Makoto said.

Nyarlathotep paused. “...no?”

Makoto got up, staring at Aigis’s smooth, placid face for as long as he could. “I never wanted to be numb,” he said. “I didn’t have a choice, before. I do now. I won’t go back.”

He turned around, toward Nyarlathotep, who looked like he’d bitten a lemon.

“Besides,” Makoto added. “This isn’t real.”

Electricity crackled up his spine, pooled in his eyes, dyeing them greenish-blue. “ _Amon-Ra_ ,” he murmured.

At the center of the ensuing windstorm was a masculine figure, humanoid apart from a lion’s head draped with a shining brown mane. His skin was patterned blue, purple, and black, like lapis lazuli; silver bands gleamed in bright contrast at each wrist and ankle, along with a pure white shendyt fastened around his waist by a huge round ruby.

Black eyes glinting, Amon-Ra pointed a long, brass-and-obsidian crook at Nyarlathotep, who heaved a sigh.

A warm hand slipped into Makoto’s, threading their fingers together. “Verdandi,” Aigis said. “ _Eternal White_.”

“ _Hieroglyphein_ ,” Makoto echoed.

The twin blasts fused in the air, forming a spinning ball of pale smoke surrounded with silvery bands like the rings of Saturn. Crossing his arms, Nyarlathotep watched the ball descend, watched it erupt into a blast that threw Makoto and Aigis backward—

—into a heap of bodies, a confused, thrashing tangle of flailing arms and kicking feet. “ _Ow_! Get off!” somebody yelped, and “ _You_ get off!” somebody else squawked, and then: “Everyone be still!” barked Mitsuru.

Nobody dared disobey except Makoto, who, wincing, carefully extracted himself and stood up.

“Hi guys,” he said, looking down at his friends. He’d known, in those last moments, that they were alive, but seeing them all (minus Akihiko) sprawled on top of each other, Yukari and Junpei frozen mid-grapple, still made his heart hurt. “Are you okay?”

“Could you all get off, please,” said Ken, extremely muffled.

“Please!” Fuuka agreed.

“Oh!” Yukari gasped, kicking Junpei off. “Sorry!”

“S’okay,” Ken said, rubbing his head as she helped him to his feet.

“Everyone here?” Mitsuru asked, casting a gimlet eye over the group. “Aigis—?”

“Here,” Aigis said, moving to stand beside Makoto.

They were both, he noted, back in the blue suits from the jazz-themed Velvet Room. The others, too, were in various states of fancy dress, increasingly apparent as they each rose and straightened their clothes. Fuuka’s hair had been coiled into a braided crown on top of her head, threaded through with tiny white flowers; these matched her dress, a knee-length sleeveless shift covered in lace and paired with pale brown boots. Mitsuru’s hair was, as ever, voluminous across her back, its color a sharp contrast to her suit: a charcoal waistcoat over a white blouse with cap sleeves, paired with black pants. Yukari wore pink, her suitcoat so long as to be a cape, open to reveal a pale yellow blouse tucked into pink capris; and Ken’s outfit mirrored Mitsuru’s, except that his waistcoat was red at the back, and his dress shirt had long sleeves.

“Jeez,” Junpei muttered, wrapping his arms around himself, thoroughly wrinkling his periwinkle waistcoat. “It’s cold! Where the heck are we?”

“Heeey!” Yosuke called.

Makoto looked around. Yosuke waved at them from across a narrow stretch of ice. The other members of the Investigation Team were with him, also in suits and dresses, consistently black with different flowers tucked into various pockets and button holes. They were fussing over the Phantom Thieves: Yukiko and Teddie teaming up to steam-dry a sopping Yusuke; Chie supporting a coughing Haru; Rise and Futaba comparing notes; and so on. The overall theme, clothes-wise, seemed to be _formal_.

“Come on,” Makoto told his friends.

No sooner had they joined the others than the ice all around them split open. There was an instant, a second, of breathless anticipation; and then a series of massive black tentacles erupted from beneath the surface. Waves of cold, slimy water crashed over them all, to a chorus of shrieks and gasps. Makoto, shaking wet hair out of his eyes, drew his sword and planted his feet, watching the tendrils surrounding them twist and coil. They were impossibly big, thrice as thick as the tree trunks dotting the landscape and many, many times as long; water coursed across their black, faintly ridged surfaces.

“Focus!” Yu barked, cutting through the confusion, and just in time: the tentacles snapped to attention and descended, slamming into the ground so hard that tombstones toppled and crumbled to dust, that willow trees split in half with chillingly human screams. Aigis caught Makoto around the waist, firm and stable despite the roiling earth; Yu leaned on Makoto’s shoulder, and Sumire grabbed Aigis’s elbow.

“They’re cutting us off from the others,” Aigis said, and she was right: lain flat, the tentacles towered like faintly pulsating obsidian walls. Makoto couldn’t see past them, but he could tell by the shouts and crashes and unpleasant screeching beyond that everyone else was up against a horde of Shadows.

“Up there,” said Sumire, and Makoto followed her gaze.

The clouds, thick across the sky, were beginning to boil, to swell, to darken into foreboding bruises. The hair on the back of Makoto’s neck rose and Yu’s grip on his shoulder tightened as raw power rippled through the air, skimming across Makoto’s teeth like static before a lightning strike.

And then a bright, bright, bright red eye opened above them.

“Goro Akechi isn’t here?” Nyarlathotep said. “Interesting.”

Aigis looked sharply at Sumire, who shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought he would be in one of the coffins, but—”

“Not to worry,” Nyarlathotep said, and they all skipped backward because he was suddenly right there in front of them, humanoid and smiling; and the eye was still in the sky, too, curled in a gleeful leer. “I’ll find him eventually.”

“No,” Makoto said, brandishing his sword.

“You won’t,” Yu agreed, crushing an Arcana card.

***

“Maya,” said Kai, grabbing her shoulder. “We have to go _now_.”

Time slowed. Maya looked up at Kai, at Suzume perched on his hip; looked over her shoulder at Mei now clutching Otome’s leg, and Sai and Uta in Otome’s arms. Shifted her grip on Ren’s dagger, felt the faint grooves beneath her fingers. Listened to the pounding in her ears.

The voice in her head didn’t speak again, but she could feel it watching her. Judging her.

She jerked out of Kai’s grasp and ran.

Ryuji moved at the same moment, summoning William to levy a shot at Kubo; but Kubo countered with Joker, who struck Ryuji’s temple and sent him flying. He skidded across the ground, hit the wall—

—and then Maya was there, plunging the dagger into Kubo’s side. It went in way, way more easily than she expected, like a butcher knife through beef; but when she tried to jerk it out, the blood spilling across the hilt slicked her palm, and she lost her grip.

Bellowing with rage and pain, Kubo spun and slashed at her. Maya danced backward out of reach, settled into her aikido stance, and waited.

Kubo jerked Ren’s knife out of his side, baring his teeth, and threw it away. Joker flickered above him, and the wound healed.

“Maya,” Ryuji grunted, muscles stark against his skin as he struggled to rise. “Get—away—”

Maya inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, focused. Feel the pain, let it go. The throbbing in her skull receded behind a wall of calm. Get the knife. Always get the knife.

Kubo flung himself at her, wild and sloppy, a bumbling elephant compared to Ren and a hippo on dry land compared to her. She snaked easily around his first slash, ducked beneath his second, surged upward and slammed the heel of her hand into his mouth. His lip split, his teeth cut into her skin, his head snapped back; and then her other hand struck his wrist, and the bone knife clattered across the floor. Maya dove after it, closed her fingers around the hilt. It was feather-light, but it felt weirdly and unsettlingly alive, like a viper that could bite her at any moment. Still: she had to keep it away from Kubo, and the best way to do that was to use it.

Maya whipped around, holding the knife in front of her as Kubo straightened up, blood dripping between the fingers he’d clutched to his mouth.

***

Ren stumbled. Akechi shot forward, put one arm around Ren’s waist to hold him up and slid the other around his shoulders to pull him close. He expected warmth, solid muscle, sturdy bone, but got none of those things. Ren was, instead, cold and limp, as flimsy and insubstantial as a paper doll. If not for his ribcage expanding and contracting with ragged breath, he might have been a corpse again. Akechi forced himself to hang on as much as he wanted to let go, to push this strange, alien creature away.

“You’re here,” Ren said. If his body was foreign, at least his eyes were familiar: dark and deep and smoldering, raking hungrily over Akechi’s face. “You’re—really here. Are you—”

“No.” Akechi adjusted his grip, tried to pull Ren’s arm around his shoulders, but he stood rigid. “Let me—”

“Goro, _are you_ —”

“ _No_ ,” Akechi repeated, settling for holding him tighter. “I’m alive.”

Ren slumped and shut his eyes.

“I’m getting you out.”

Ren’s breath caught. “You can’t.”

Akechi frowned at him. “What?”

“There is no way out,” Ren said.

Then his lips compressed, a little flicker of pain, and he started walking. By the time Akechi understood what was happening, he’d already wrenched himself out of Akechi’s arms.

“Ren,” Akechi said, catching his wrist. “What are you—”

Ren kept going right up until he couldn’t anymore, and then he twisted around, his face white and pinched as his legs continued one way while his torso bowed the other. “Let go.”

“No!” Akechi snapped, digging in his heels. “Where are you going?”

“You’re hurting me.”

Akechi knew it: he could see the muscles in Ren’s shoulders straining, feel the tendons livid in his wrist as his body tried to tear him from Akechi’s grasp.

“Then stop,” Akechi said, closing his other hand over Ren’s arm too, his fingertips creaking against bone. “Stop!”

“I can’t,” Ren replied. His throat flexed when he swallowed. “I’ve tried. I’ve been trying.”

His feet slipped, almost out from under him, and Akechi’s stomach turned: they were bare, and swollen, and they left a streak of blood in the sand. Looking back, Akechi saw a trail of crimson footprints stretching behind them, shimmering in the muted sunlight.

“I’ve been walking forever,” Ren added. “I kept trying to get out, get back to you, but I—every time I think I’ve changed course, it turns out I’m going the right way again.”

“The right way?” Akechi said, damp palms sliding across Ren’s skin. “What, exactly, is the right way?”

Ren huffed out a breath, shook his head. “I don’t know. _On_ , I guess.”

Akechi bristled. Mordred—no— _Chronos_ flared within him, spreading its golden wings. “No. _No_. I won’t let you. I’m taking you home.”

“You can’t.”

Baring his teeth, Akechi hauled backward with all his strength, ignoring Ren’s faint cry of protest. “Since when is _can’t_ a word in your vocabulary?”

“I—”

“You have to come back,” Akechi snarled, locking his fingers around Ren’s elbow, his upper arm. “The girls need you.”

Ren’s face flickered. He opened his eyes, but didn’t lift his head.

“No they don’t,” he said softly. “They have you.”

Akechi caught his shoulder. “ _I_ need you.”

Ren’s expression changed, went sad and gentle, and Akechi hated him, hated this place, hated the lump that grew in his throat threatening tears. “No, you don’t,” Ren murmured.

“ _Fine_ ,” Akechi spat, surging forward, seizing the collar of Ren’s shirt and dragging him up nose-to-nose. “I _want_ you. Is that what you need to hear? I want you, I love you, I can’t do this without you, I can’t—”

“You can,” Ren said. He was here, he was _right here_ , but he was also under glass, separate and apart, unreachable. Akechi wanted to hit him. He wanted to bite his throat and taste his blood and savage him, feel the heat of him on his tongue and against his skin. He wanted him to be _alive_ , himself, the way he’d been before. “Of course you can. You’ll be okay.”

“I don’t want to be okay,” Akechi retorted, twisting his hands so tightly into Ren’s shirt that they hurt because Ren was still fighting him, still being dragged backward by that unseen, inexorable force. “I don’t want to get over it, I don’t want to move on, I want _you_ , and you’re here and you’re coming with me—”

“I can’t. I have to go.”

“Who says?”

Ren shuddered. “I don’t know.”

“Then _fight_!” Akechi shouted, shaking him. “Fight it! _Fuck_ this thing, whatever it is, it doesn’t get to tell you what to do—” Ren’s collar cut a white line into his neck—“It doesn’t get to take you away from me—”

“Goro—”

“Don’t _call_ me that!” Goro shook him again, harder, jerked him forward and slammed their foreheads together. “You don’t get to call me that unless you come back. Unless you _come home_.”

Ren sucked in a breath through his teeth, flattened his palms against Goro’s shoulders, not pushing him away but not holding on, either.

“Goro, please,” he said. “I’m so tired.”

Goro hesitated.

***

Kubo dropped his hand to his side, spat on the floor.

“Nice trick,” he said. Out of the corner of her eye, Maya saw Ryuji bracing his elbows on the ground, creaking upward onto his hands and knees. “I’ve got a better one.”

And Joker reappeared. Maya had a brief, faint sense of crackling energy, but before she could move her whole body was a single unified point of pain. Magma flooded her skin, seared her muscles, knocked her to her knees and then to her stomach, the ground very cold against her face. She was thrashing, swinging the knife at anything and everything within reach, connecting with nothing; nothing was touching her, nothing was beating her, but still the pain persisted, a thousand fists holding a thousand torches, and through the growing ringing in her ears she could hear other cries too, other voices raised in agony and suffering, and that was somehow worse than her own misery, than her own screams tainting her mouth with blood

When it ended, she lay there, shivering and limp. Then a booted foot crashed down on her hand, crushing her palm to the floor; something went _crunch_ ; her hand went numb but not for long. Suddenly her flesh was full of splinters, worse than that time she’d punched the wall, almost as bad as the inexplicable fire from moments or hours or days ago. She jerked her arm back, shrieking when her fingers moved in ways they shouldn’t have been able to move, and retched a thin stream of clear bile.

The same boot connected with her ribs, kicking her over, and then sank into her stomach. She saw black; her lungs collapsed; she heard her own breath rattling uselessly in her throat, unable to get in or out.

“Little bitch,” said Kubo, from very far away. He planted his heel on her sternum, leaned down, ground painfully against bone. She didn’t want to move, because it hurt, but her body disobeyed her, lifting her uninjured hand to try to pry him off, push him away. “No wonder he wants you dead so bad.”

Maya’s blurry vision focused on Kubo’s face, descending closer until he was all she could see. He held up the bone knife, so close that she flinched, whimpered.

“Yeah?” he sneered, tilting the blade nearer, swiping at an eyelash. “That scare you? It should.” The bone was pure ice when it brushed her skin, not cutting yet but stinging with promise. “All of this is happening because of you, you know.”

She knew. Her blood pounded in her ears.

“I’m here to kill you,” Kubo leveled the knife at her face, “and her,” and then off to one side. “The rest of these people are just collateral.”

 _You and her_. Sai. He was talking about Sai. All the pain from her hand, her ribs, her gut rerouted, filling her skull.

“I don’t actually like doing this,” he said, but the bright edge to his voice gave away that lie. “Killing kids. But you’ve given me a good reason.”

Maya’s head _throbbed_ , bringing tears to her eyes. Kubo grinned.

“There you go, sweetness. You understand now?” He rested the knife against her neck. “Nobody’s coming to save you.”

 _Hmph!_ scoffed the feminine voice. Maya’s head snapped back, jarring hard against the floor. _Don’t patronize us, you cretin_.

A whirlwind whipped around her, throwing Kubo backward. Her back arched, her shoulders and feet bracing on the ground, her mouth falling open in a silent cry as an axe lodged in her brain and worked left, right, left, sawing her open. She couldn’t see it, but her eyes gleamed yellow.

 _I am thou_ , said the voice. _Thou art I. Are you ready now?_

Maya didn’t remember getting up, but she had, staggering slightly when the room spun around her. Her heart was in her throat, her jaw slack, tears flooding down her cheeks as she found her balance and lifted her splitting skull.

“ _Persona_ ,” she breathed, and the word sent an electric shock zinging from her toes to the crown of her skull. “ _Irene_!”

Irene laughed, first resounding between Maya’s ears and then rising higher, higher, until in a burst of blue flame she appeared. She was something like a human woman. She wore a black Victorian mourning gown with a high, lacy collar; long, puffy sleeves drawn tight at her wrists; an unnaturally narrow, cinched waist; and a wide skirt that ballooned like a bell. Her hands and face were alabaster, her eyes obscured by a veil pinned to the black hat atop her dark hair. Clutched in her fingers, spinning restlessly, was a parasol. The exterior side was covered in lush black feathers, gleaming bluish-green where they caught the light; and the underside was a stained glass window, seven panes of seven colors throwing jeweled shadows across her and Maya.

Maya flexed her hands, tipped up her chin. The pain was gone. She was ready. She was _exhilarated_.

“What,” Kubo said.

A word jumped to Maya’s mouth: “ _Eigaon_.”

A pool of darkness opened at Kubo’s feet and wrapped him in howling spirits, black on red on black. He stumbled, bellowing.

“ _Brave Blade_ ,” Maya added, scything her hand sideways.

Irene snapped her parasol closed, twisted its curved handle, withdrew a long and slender sword. Pain hissed across Maya’s ribs as Irene lashed out, raking her blade across Joker when it flickered into view above Kubo’s head. Kubo screamed.

“You _bitch_ ,” he roared. “Who the fuck do you—”

Laughing, her feet barely touching the ground, Maya did it again. “ _Brave Blade_!”

Another scream. Kubo actually fell to his knees this time, digging his nails into his chest. Maya was bleeding freely now, could feel it soaking hot and wet into her shirt, but it was good. It was _incredible_ , a thrilling ache better than running, better than aikido, pulsing in time with her heart singing in her ears and thundering in her throat—

—until Joker flashed across the room, lifted its sickle-like arm, and plunged it into Irene’s chest.

***

Goro hesitated.

Only for a moment, but he hesitated. He looked at Ren, at the deep lines of anguish and exhaustion crossing his face. He wouldn’t meet Goro’s gaze, even now, when Goro could feel his breath (cold, moist, like the breeze after a spring rain) puffing against his own mouth. His hands felt faint, thin against Goro’s body.

He’d said he’d been walking forever, searching for a way out. Maybe he’d been fighting. Maybe this place had sapped him, the way it had Goro, until he—Goro’s skin prickled— _lost the will to resist_.

Ren had spent his entire life handing out shards of his soul like candy. Goro, who barely had enough patience for four or five friendships, much less many dozens, marveled at his ability to do everything for everyone and still maintain a grip on his fundamental _self_. Sometimes he overdid it, but mostly he thrived on it. For Ren Amamiya (Ren _Akechi_ ), there was no such thing as too much.

Until, apparently, now.

If he was finally ready to give up, to rest...shouldn’t Goro let him?

 _No_ , Mordred snarled, echoing in the hollow places where Robin Hood, Loki, and Hereward had been, the raw patches in Akechi’s heart.

No. No. No. No. NO.

Akechi caught Ren by the back of the neck and kissed him on the mouth.

It was awkward, and clumsy, because it’s hard to kiss someone who’s actively pulling away from you; their mouths weren’t properly aligned, and Akechi’s teeth snagged Ren’s lip; but the effect was immediate. Wind roared around them, whipping away the sand, the fog, the haze, revealing row upon row of grassy hills. The sun, or something like it, spilled bright warmth onto their shoulders, which were, suddenly, dressed in well-cut suits of similar styles. Akechi’s coat was tailored neatly to his waist, and Ren’s flared into long tails that brushed the backs of his knees; Akechi wore red on black, Ren black on red, over matching pairs of black slacks and black leather shoes.

Most of all, _best_ of all, Ren woke up. He gasped against Akechi’s mouth, _into_ Akechi’s mouth, his hands flying up to cup Akechi’s face. Akechi twisted his own hand into Ren’s hair, wrapped his arm around his waist, pulled him flush and savored the familiar heat of his body and the curve of his hips and the firm, straight lines of his chest and shoulders.

It wasn’t enough. Akechi wanted to devour him, consume him, subsume him and keep him locked inside his own ribs, where no one could threaten him ever again. He also wanted to feel him, really feel him, and his own gloves—black velvet—were in the way. Fumbling, Akechi yanked them off, fisted them in one hand, hooked his fingers into the hinge of Ren’s jaw and purred at the softness of his skin, the cutting edge of bone.

Ren started to pull back, started to say, “I can’t believe you—” but Akechi cut him off.

“Take off your _fucking_ gloves,” he said, not even bothering to open his eyes, and caught Ren’s mouth in his own again.

Ren laughed, but obeyed, tugging off the red velvet gloves and stuffing them into his pocket. Then his hands found Akechi’s face, scalding where they traced his cheekbones, his chin, skated down his throat and across his shoulders and around to his back, muffled there by fabric but still too warm to be borne. Keening low, not caring how it sounded, not caring that he was embarrassing himself, Akechi tilted his head and licked into Ren’s mouth, wanting to taste him, to scour every inch. Ren hummed, sweet and encouraging, his hands his hands _his hands_ gliding up Akechi’s spine and back to his cheeks, callused thumbs brushing away the wetness that Akechi would never admit had been there. At least, not to anyone else.

When Ren drew away again, Akechi, utterly dazed, lips swollen, made to follow. But Ren held him gently back, pressing their foreheads together, nuzzling his nose.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered. “I can’t believe you did this.”

“Shut up,” Akechi said, and, “Kiss me,” and Ren did, over and over and over, rumbling deep in his chest when Akechi dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging sharply to loosen the snarls. Ren smoothed his hands down the column of Akechi’s neck, pausing at his pulse point, pressing down as if to convince himself that he was real, that he was alive. Akechi knew Ren was. It was written in the thrum of his blood beneath his skin, the rise and fall of his chest, the weight of his body and the strength of his arms.

Then Ren paused, and stepped back, and turned to face the Persona suddenly floating beside them. It was, like Chronos, humanoid; but unlike Chronos, it wore a black bodysuit over a lean, muscular frame. On its chest was a blood-red sun, which spilled broad crimson stripes down its abdomen and thighs, disappearing finally into low-heeled scarlet boots. Golden pauldrons winked on its shoulders; voluminous black sleeves, edged with red, billowed in the wind still whipping around them. Covering its throat, collarbone, and back was a gorget fashioned from golden wings, like Chronos’s.

Capping all of these features, above a high, striped collar, was a masked face. It glinted and sparkled, blood-red metal coiling and curving like flame cast in glass. Its surface was smooth and polished, no mouth or nose in evidence. Deep within its shadowy eyeslits were two bright, glowing blue eyes, fixed on Ren.

“Apollo,” Ren said.

Apollo bowed his head, and vanished. Ren’s hair flew back from his face in a rush of warmth, restoring even more color to his cheeks. Closing his eyes, he breathed in deeply through his nose.

Akechi loved him so much he thought he might die. He could have stood there staring at Ren, at his eyelashes casting minute shadows on his skin, at the slope of his throat and the flat plane of his abdomen, forever. Something curious was wrestling in his stomach, half desire and half contentment; he wanted to kiss and lick and bite every inch of Ren, remind himself how he tasted and how he quivered against his lips, but he also wanted to stand here and look at him until the end of the universe.

“So,” Ren said at last, turning to Akechi. “What’d I miss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ryuji continues the tradition of getting his ass beat so someone can awaken to their persona. what a good friend
> 
> I always planned for Ren to awaken to Apollo and Akechi to Chronos because They Are Tatsuya And Jun, Atlus, I See You, but the decision between Artemis and Amon-Ra for Yu and Makoto was harder. Yu’s links to Artemis are pretty strong. Artemis is the protector of nature, which reflects Yu’s connection to Inaba; she’s Apollo’s twin, which codifies Yu and Ren’s bond; and Maya Amano was Tatsuya’s counterpart in the same way I think Yu is Ren’s: better-adjusted, more outgoing, but fundamentally similar. 
> 
> But Yu could just as easily have awoken to Amon-Ra, because Amon-Ra isn’t as good of a fit for Makoto. Amon-Ra is generally considered an embodiment of the sun, whereas Makoto is most often associated with the moon (like Artemis). Amon-Ra is associated with creation and fertility, whereas Makoto is…not. On the other hand, Amon-Ra was a symbol of justice, mercy, and mystery, all qualities I think Makoto embodies. He was also the head of the Egyptian pantheon, and Makoto’s Ultimate Persona is literally Jesus. And, you know, Naoya was the OG Persona protagonist, and Makoto is the OG of this trio, so…just go with it.
> 
> Aigis awakening to Verdandi was mostly based on Aigis’s similarities to Maki Sonomura, which are legion. Right down to rewriting reality around themselves to avoid something unpleasant (Maki in the original Persona, Aigis in Doomsday). I briefly considered giving Aigis Gabriel, Eriko’s Persona, to reflect their respective bonds with the protagonists, but her connections to Maki were much more interesting, so she gets Verdandi. Sorry, Eriko. Get on Maki’s level
> 
> I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/frockbot)! @ me about how personas represent human souls and therefore inheriting a persona is a form of reincarnation


	15. I Will Never Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, violence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ieUQxZQXrg)
> 
> [_And when a southern wind comes to raise my soul_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ieUQxZQXrg)
> 
> [
> 
> _Spread my spirit like a flock of crows_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ieUQxZQXrg)

Akechi opened his mouth to reply, but a masculine voice— _Philemon’s_ voice—answered instead: “Oh, a few things.”

Bristling, Ren whipped around, but Akechi caught his arm. “It’s all right,” he muttered. “He helped.”

Ren glared at Philemon anyway, at the upward quirk of his lips beneath his mask. “What do you want?”

“Prickly as ever,” Philemon said, smile widening.

“Are you all right?” someone else blurted, and Ren, blinking, looked at the young woman standing beside Philemon. She studied him through huge golden eyes, her hands clasped against her chest, her long silvery hair rustling in the warm breeze.

“Lavenza?” Ren said, and she squealed and rushed forward to hug him.

“Ren!” she exclaimed, squeezing so tight that his ribs creaked. “Thank goodness! I was afraid I’d never—”

“Um,” Ren grunted, wincing even as he hugged her back. “Um, you’re—hurting me, a little—”

“Oh!” Lavenza let go at once, clapping her hands to her mouth. “I’m so sorry! I just—I’m so relieved—”

Ren gulped in a breath, massaging his side. “It’s okay. What are you doing here?”

“She made all of this possible,” Philemon said. Ren’s hackles rose again; Akechi stepped up beside him and rested his hand in the small of his back. “She found me, explained what a fool I’d been, and brought Goro Akechi—sorry, _Akechi_ here to help you.”

“We knew he could find you,” Lavenza added, beaming. “And we were right.”

In another life, Ren might have resisted the urge to slip his arm around Akechi’s waist right then. But that was then and this was now, so he did it, tugging his husband flush to his side. Akechi grumbled, but let him.

Philemon put his hands in his pockets and rocked his hips sideways in a pose that Ren knew all too well. “Well done, Akechi,” he said. “You knew the risks, and you tried anyway, and succeeded. Very on brand for you.”

Akechi snorted. “It was easy,” he said, shrugging one shoulder. Ren knew that was a lie, but didn’t push him on it. Yet.

“Still,” Philemon said, positively grinning. “Loki, Robin Hood, and Hereward have been restored to you.” Ren shot Akechi a look, but he kept his gaze fixed on Philemon. “Now that you’ve awakened to the Fortune Arcana, it’s only a matter of time before you awaken to others as well. Perhaps Ren could help you with that.”

“Certainly I’d be happy to help you with that,” Lavenza put in.

“As for you,” Philemon said to Ren, “I won’t force you to sign a contract. I know that’s not your style. But from now on, you have free rein to enter and leave the Metaverse whenever you wish. And there’s no more need for masks. We’re all friends here.”

“Maybe I liked the mask,” Ren muttered.

“Be glad I let you keep the outfits,” Philemon replied. “I’m not sure what’s wrong with more practical clothes, but since you insist upon flamboyance...”

“You’re one to talk,” Akechi sneered.

Philemon brushed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “If you’re quite finished here, it’s about time that you—”

“Wait,” Ren said.

He let go of Akechi and stepped forward, squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin.

“Why do you keep letting him do this?” he asked.

Philemon blinked. “Who? Nyarlathotep?”

“Yes. Why do you keep letting him hurt people?”

“You know why. The rules—”

“What rules?”

“Of the game.”

“ _What game_?” Ren pressed, narrowing his eyes. “You’re two to one. You’re about to be three to one, once I finish kicking his ass again. Game’s over. You won. So tell him to back off.”

Philemon coughed. “It’s not that simple.”

“Sure it is.”

“Nyarlathotep has never taken my orders—”

“It’s not an order,” Ren said. “It’s a negotiation. The game’s over and now you can start something new. Something that doesn’t involve tormenting my family.”

Philemon opened his mouth, closed it, cocked his head. “Huh.”

Ren closed the gap between them with slow, deliberate steps. Apollo manifested at his shoulder, flexing his golden claws so the sun glittered across their surface.

“And you’d better,” Ren said quietly. “Because the next time he starts hunting down humans, I’m coming after _you_.”

Philemon’s amber eyes flashed like brass, his ponytail snapping sideways as the wind roared around him, hot and dry. When he grinned, his teeth were sharp.

“You really are something else,” he said, echoing and distorted, and if Ren hadn’t already faced down innumerable monsters, he might have been intimidated by the hungry cut of Philemon’s smile. “All right, Ren Amamiya. Ren _Akechi_. I take your point. Hand Nyarlathotep his third loss, and I’ll end the game for good.

“First, though: your daughter needs your help.”

Ren tensed, and Akechi hissed, and Philemon snapped his fingers.

***

Maya looked up, with dawning horror, at her Persona impaled on Joker’s claw. Irene jerked, back arching, parasol spinning wildly; and then Joker twisted its arm and flicked its wrist, and its blade shot out through Irene’s side in a spray of shining fragments. Maya went rigid as pain echoed inside her own chest, as an icy blade plunged into her sternum, pierced her lung, raked through her ribcage and out into open air 

She lifted numb and shaking fingers to touch what should have been a gaping wound, a raw, red ruin in her side. There was nothing. But the pain remained, hot and heavy, pulsing in time with her racing heart. She tasted copper, old pennies, coughed a ribbon of drool onto the floor and was surprised it wasn’t pink, or red—

She started to fall forward, almost in slow motion—

—and a pair of strong arms locked around her waist.

“It’s all right,” said Ren’s voice in her ear. “I’ve got you.”

Was this what it was like to die? Was it that easy? A little pain, a little suffering, and then a shroud of warmth, the safe cage of your father’s arms? That wasn’t so bad. Maya leaned into him, resting her head on his chest, soothed by his heart thumping steady against—

Wait.

“ _Salvation_ ,” Ren said, and Maya was suffused with a heat that wiped away the pain, knitted her bones, filled her lungs with delicious oxygen.

She looked up into Ren’s smiling face.

“Dad,” she whispered.

He pulled her into a tight embrace, kissed her temple. “I am _so proud_ of you,” he breathed, cradling the back of her head. “My brave girl.”

Maya’s throat flexed, twisted around a wail, probably a word but not one in any language she recognized, and she wrapped her arms around him and clung on. She had never really noticed his scent before, had never consciously registered it, but she recognized it now and that, more than anything, more than the stream of nonsense he was murmuring into her hair and more than the warmth and promise and protection of his arms, was what made her start crying. She hadn’t cried like this since her mother died. That had been her first experience with sobs that could hurt, that ripped themselves out of you and took pieces of you with them, great bleeding chunks of your heart; with tears that scalded, leaving bright boiling tracks down your cheeks until there was no more liquid left in your body to make them.

She buried her face in his collarbone, pushing hard enough to bruise, so that he tightened his grip on her until it was almost suffocating. And she sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed.

Sai wiggled out of Otome’s grasp—not difficult, since Kubo’s last strike had brought her to her knees—and sprinted across the room, tiny fists clenched. Ren heard her coming, opened his arm, and folded her in too, crushing both girls against him as if he could squeeze their grief out of them. Maybe he could.

Kubo, meanwhile, was royally fucked.

He didn’t know it yet—he was busy goggling at Ren—but he got the picture as soon as Akechi descended on him. Akechi was, for once, utterly silent as the black tar of chaos rippled across his body. He drove his elbow into Kubo’s windpipe, throwing him backward. Kubo landed hard, rolled over, dropped the knife to clutch his throat; and when the pale, wobbly form of Joker appeared over him, Chronos flashed through the air and plunged its hand into the other Persona’s stomach.

When Chronos wrenched its fist back, it left a huge, hollow tear in Joker’s midsection. Kubo tried to scream, couldn’t. Akechi brought his heel down onto the side of Kubo’s head with a terrible crunch. Kubo’s eyes bulged; he made a thin, reedy sound, a whistle through the eye of a needle. Leaning down, Akechi fisted his hands in Kubo’s shirt, hoisted him up, and threw him bodily across the room, where he crashed into a wall.

“Heal yourself,” Akechi breathed, stalking forward. “Get up. _Fight me_.”

Kubo coughed, tried to inhale again, his breath rattling. Joker manifested once more, spread its arms, and the bruises purpling Kubo’s neck and face disappeared. He scrambled to his feet, looking around, paling when he saw the knife still out of reach.

Akechi seized Kubo by the hair and slammed his knee into his gut. Kubo retched. Akechi flung him down and trampled his face this time, grinding his sole into Kubo’s mouth to muffle his squeal. Then he stopped, deliberately, pointedly, and Joker flailed once more, and Kubo swung both fists up and out. Akechi danced lightly aside, tilted his head to avoid a swipe from the pale Persona, and turned crimson eyes on it.

“Chronos,” he said. “ _Wing Flap_.”

All six of Chronos’s wings spread wide, and when it shot past Joker it raked its side with bristling metal feathers. The white Persona spun around, flesh flapping ragged, and Chronos struck again, and again, and again, zipping in tight diagonals left, right, and center, slicing Joker to ribbons. Kubo, twitching and shuddering, rolled onto his stomach, dragged himself toward the knife—

—and Akechi stomped on his hand.

Kubo shrieked. Sneering, Akechi grabbed him by the neck, picked him up.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he purred, extending his arm so that Kubo dangled, choking, from one hand. “To be noticed? To play in the big leagues? Aww,” he added, as a dark wetness spread across Kubo’s crotch and down his leg. “What’s wrong? Are you scared?”

Akechi threw him again. Kubo hit the ground, _bounced_ , but to his credit immediately tried to get up and crawl away. He didn’t get far.

“You,” Akechi snarled, kicking his ass, sending him flying—“ _should_ —” Another kick to the face, as Kubo flopped onto his back—“be.”

Coughing, sniveling, Kubo managed to half-scoot, half-crabwalk away until his back was against the wall.

“I-I’m sorry,” he babbled. “I’m really sorry.”

Akechi smiled, wet and wide.

“You should be,” he repeated, and pressed his gun to Kubo’s forehead.

“Crow,” Ren barked, head snapping up. “Don’t kill him.”

Akechi stood very still. Then he flipped the gun around and slammed the grip into Kubo’s temple. Kubo slumped.

All of this took about two minutes.

“Don’t worry,” Lavenza said, appearing at Akechi’s elbow. She regarded Kubo with naked disgust. “I’ll take care of him.”

Sucking his bottom lip against his teeth, Akechi holstered his gun and turned around.

“Everyone all right?” he asked.

Otome was on her feet, helping Kai to his. Mei, Suzume, and Uta pulled away from them and mobbed their father, who was white-faced and bloodied but unhurt, thanks to Ren. Ren pressed one last kiss to Maya and Sai’s heads before he straightened up, lifting Sai onto his hip and curving his arm around Maya’s shoulders.

“Papa,” Sai said, opening her arms. Akechi was there in an instant, holding her close, holding Maya too when she pressed against him.

“You did it,” Maya mumbled into his suit. “I can’t believe it. You did it.”

“Of course I did,” he said, meeting Ren’s gaze. “I promised.”

“Renren,” Ryuji croaked.

Ren looked around, put his hands in his pockets. “Hey,” he said, grinning. “I’m back.”

Ryuji stumbled forward, juggling three toddlers, and rested his forehead on Ren’s shoulder. “Shit, man,” he whispered. “Don’t fucking scare me like that.”

Ren combed his fingers through Ryuji’s hair. “Sorry.”

“Don’t _apologize_.”

“Hi, Uncle Ren,” said Mei, leaning over to hug his neck. “Are you okay now?”

“I’m okay, Mei-chan.”

She sighed. “Good.”

Ryuji stepped back, sniffing hard, and blushed as all three of his daughters hurried to wipe his tears away. Then he sighed, exasperated, when they immediately started arguing about who should get to kiss it better.

“Ren,” Kai said, gripping Ren’s wrist, and Ren had half a second to be surprised before his parents pulled him into their embrace. Kai rested his chin in the crook of Ren’s neck; Otome pressed her face into his shoulder, inhaling deeply. They each slipped one arm around his waist and held on, Kai trembling, Otome steady.

Ren’s heart swelled into his throat, stuck there. “Hi,” he managed. “Uh—hi.”

“Hi,” Otome replied, laughing softly. Kai made a strangled noise.

“What are you—” He drew back, reluctantly, to look at them, at his father openly crying and his mother close to. “What—”

“Akechi called us,” Otome said. Ren looked around just in time to see Akechi look away. “He told us what idiots we’d been. He was right.”

“We should never have let this go on so long,” Kai said, dragging the heel of his hand across his eyes. “Never. We’ve been so stubborn and so stupid.”

“No kidding,” Ren said, harsher than he’d intended. It was hard to say anything around the tightness in his throat; his brain was spinning.

“We’ll make it up to you,” Otome said, squeezing his hand. “We’ll fix it.”

“But right now,” Akechi said, “we have somewhere to be.”

“What?” Maya said. “Where?”

“We have to finish the fight,” Ren replied, turning away from his parents. “This isn’t over yet.”

Maya tensed. “But—”

“We’re coming back,” Ren said. He crouched down, locked eyes with her, dark and blazing. “I swear. No one else is going to die.”

Maya lifted her chin. “Let me come,” she said. “Let me help.”

“No.” Akechi touched her back. “You have to stay here and protect the others.”

Maya glanced at him, at Sai, at Mei and Suzume and Uta and her grandparents. She scanned the room, alighted on Paradise Lost, forgotten in the corner. Taking a deep breath, she strode over to it, picked it up, wiped its blade on her shirt.

“All right,” she said, coming back to them. “I can handle it.”

Ren grasped her shoulder. “I know you can. Ryuji,” he added. “Are you coming?”

“Hell yeah,” Ryuji replied, disentangling himself from his children. “We’ll be right back, guys.”

“Where are you going?” Suzume demanded.

Ryuji hesitated. “Uh—”

“Trickster,” said Lavenza, at Ren’s side. “This is yours, by rights.”

His witty remark— _We’re back to ‘Trickster?’_ —died in his throat as she held out the bone knife. He stared at it, at the thousands of eyes watching him, at the ripples visible in the blade where it caught the light.

It would be cold against his skin. Cold, but alive. Unpredictable. Uniquely deadly.

He’d slashed through Shadows in the Metaverse more times than he could count. He was used to the quiver of flesh parting beneath his blade, to the shudder all the way up his arm when he struck bone, to the hot rush of blood across his glove. (Akechi thought he was the only one who enjoyed killing. He was wrong. Ren was just better at choosing his targets.) But all of that was calculated, measured, purposeful. He never landed a strike he didn’t plan, never cut deeper than he intended. Sometimes he missed, but that was as close as he let himself come to making mistakes in battle.

This knife was made for mistakes.

Ren put his hands in his pockets. “What can you do with it?”

Lavenza blinked, considered. “Who will you give me?”

“Raoul.”

She smiled. “Just a moment.”

Tossing Kubo’s limp body across her shoulder, she opened a door in the air and walked through it.

“Right,” Ryuji said, bounding over, eyes bright. “I’m ready.”

Ren took Sai from Akechi, brushed her hair out of her face. “You stay here with Maya,” he murmured, resting his forehead against hers. “We’ll be back soon. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sai whispered. “Love you.”

“I love you too.”

He passed Sai to his father, winced, touched his chest: a livid wound had opened across his heart.

 _If you need me_ , Raoul whispered, _call_.

And the Persona was gone. It always hurt.

Then Lavenza was back, offering him something new. It was clean, and simple, and fine: a dagger as long as his forearm, practically a shortsword, with a thin, curved silver blade like a boning knife. The hilt was carved from some kind of black stone, rough even through the velvet of his gloves, unpolished onyx or jade or similar. At the end of the hilt, cut coarse so that it hardly glittered, was a red gemstone.

“Perfect,” Ren said, smiling.

“I’ve put Kubo away,” Lavenza said. Something about the way she said _away_ gave him a chill. “You needn’t worry about him.”

“Thank you, Lavenza.” Ren sheathed the dagger, perfectly fitted to his belt. “For everything.”

“Any time,” she replied, smiling. “Always. May luck be on your side.”

Ren turned around. Akechi stood there with his arms folded and his hips canted to one side; Ryuji, Mjolnir in hand, pumped his fist.

“Let’s do this,” Ren said.

***

Sometime earlier, in the pocket dimension Nyarlathotep had trapped Yu and the others in, Nyarlathotep’s eye in the sky opened wide. The clouds surrounding it turned black, seemed to contract, as if gathering strength. Then, with a terrible crash, blue lightning descended all around them, peppering the field with craters. Sumire, Yu, Makoto, and Aigis dodged, but cries and shouts beyond the living walls indicated that he’d targeted their friends, too.

“Everyone!” Aigis cried.

“Don’t worry about us!” Futaba yelled, echoing in Yu’s head. “We got this!”

“Focus on bringing him down,” Fuuka added fiercely.

Nyarlathotep’s humanoid form, unmoved and untouched by his own attack, clasped his hands behind his back. “Well?” he said. “What will you do?”

Yu squared up. “Yoshitsune—”

“Wait _wait_ wait,” Rise exclaimed. “You can’t hit him!”

Yu stopped. “What do you mean?”

“I mean! He repels everything! No matter what you do to him, it’ll bounce back at you!”

Nyarlathotep’s smile was crawling off his face and around to his ears.

“Even Almighty skills?” Makoto asked.

“Oh! Um—I can’t tell!”

“Messiah,” Makoto said, turning. “ _Megido_ —”

Nyarlathotep’s lips moved, but all that came out was a wet sucking sound. Black and red tendrils, writhing like smoke, erupted from the ground and bound Makoto’s ankles, his knees, his arms to his sides; and then they burst into white flame. It was over too quickly for Yu to really process: Makoto threw his head back and screamed, and went limp. A moment later, his eyes fluttered open again, but the flames roared back.

This time, when he slumped down, the tendrils receded, leaving him sprawled on the damp earth.

“Oh my god,” Sumire whispered.

“Attis,” Aigis shouted, flinging herself down beside Makoto. “ _Samarecarm_!”

Makoto gasped, and stirred, and before Nyarlathotep could react Yu snapped, “ _Makarakarn_!”

The tendrils reappeared, but slid uselessly off the surface of Yu’s barrier.

“Switch to Thanatos,” Aigis urged, pulling Makoto to his feet.

“Orpheus,” he coughed instead. “ _Cadenza_.”

A tingling rush spread across Yu’s skin, quickening his pulse. Sumire rose up onto the balls of her feet, leveling her rapier over her shoulder. When Nyarlathotep struck again, aiming for both Aigis and Makoto, they sprang nimbly out of the way.

Blue lightning snapped across the sky once more, arcing from cloud to cloud before lancing down in a single, massive pillar somewhere beyond the tentacles. Static buzzed in Yu’s hair as a wall of wind washed over them. What followed was an eerie silence that made his stomach clench.

“Is everyone okay?” he demanded.

“We told you,” Fuuka said, high and strained, “not to worry about us.”

That was a no, then.

“Damn,” Yu whispered, looking around. There had to be something they could do. If Nyarlathotep wouldn’t let them hit his human form—

He lifted his head, looked up at the enormous crimson eye. His heart leapt.

“Rise,” he said. “Does the eye have any weaknesses?”

“Um,” she replied. “Um, um, I can’t read it. I don’t know. But it’s worth a try!”

“Izanagi-no-Okami,” Yu called. The Persona appeared, coat swirling, and brandished its blade. “ _Myriad Truths!_ ”

Izanagi-no-Okami hurtled upward, drew back its sword, and slashed up, right, and left. Glowing scratches appeared across the eye’s surface; its pupil retracted into a menacing slit; the humanoid Nyarlathotep howled, baring long, hooked fangs.

Breathless with triumph, Yu shouted, “Aim for the eye!”

***

For Ann and the others, things weren’t going badly. But they weren’t going well.

The tentacles had divided everyone into groups of four, and the ground had started belching Shadows at them: Shadows designed to target their weaknesses and nullify their strengths. Ann, Yukari, Yosuke, and Morgana faced off against wave after wave of Byakhees, which blocked Wind and Fire skills. They didn’t hit hard, but they hit _enough_ , and even with Yosuke’s Youthful Wind and Yukari’s intermittent Makarakarns, every single member of their group, Ann included, fainted at least once. Luckily, Morgana and Yukari never went down at the same time, so there was always someone to revive them.

But they were running out of energy, physical and mental. If the Byakhees weren’t bad enough, Nyarlathotep’s eye kept firing Almighty attacks at them. Ann had healed herself and the others so many times that her knees were shaking; she was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Morgana and Yukari, too, were flagging, Morgana dazed and Yukari whey-faced.

Yet another Byakhee sprang toward Ann, claws outstretched. Gritting her teeth, she lashed her whip around both of its wrists and slammed it to the ground. Morgana followed up with a strike from his slingshot, and the Byakhee melted into black goo.

“I’m out,” Morgana panted, tossing the slingshot back into hammerspace.

“ _Brave Blade_!” Yosuke shouted, and Takehaya Susano-o whirled, kicking a jagged throwing star through another Byakhee. It squealed, dissolved, and a replacement immediately oozed up out of the ground.

“ _Diarahan_ ,” Yukari said, gripping Yosuke’s shoulder. Her lips were white, her fingers shaking.

“Stop doin’ that,” Yosuke said, brushing her off. “I mean, thanks, but you’re not—”

“I’m fine,” Yukari retorted, pivoting on her heel to fire an arrow through another Byakhee’s—head? Eye? Did they have eyes? “Don’t worry about me.”

“I can heal too,” Ann said, though her stomach was sour and her gown slick with sweat. “I’ll take over.”

“ _Hah_!” Morgana hissed, raking his falchion across a Byakhee’s leg, dropping it to its knees. “No, I’ll take over—”

“Nobody’s taking over!” Yosuke snapped. He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes. “I’ve got a couple Brave Blades left in me, and then I’ll switch to kunai.”

“This can’t go on forever, right?” Ann said, dodging a slash, slamming her whip’s handle into the downed Byakhee’s head. “It’s gotta stop sometime, right?”

A foreboding rumble sounded above them. Ann sighed through her nose, kicked aside a pair of Byakhees and dodged as the clouds parted, as light flickered across—

Something went _crash_. Ann was thrown hard onto her side, the wind knocked from her lungs, her shoulder knocked almost out of joint; wet soil splattered across her. For a second she couldn’t move. Her ears rang. She blinked fast, trying to wipe away the purple afterimage so she could see what was coming, because surely something was. Yes: no sooner had her eyes focused than she saw a Byakhee hurtling toward her. It tackled her, flinging her onto her back, driving its talons into her shoulder; she cried out, levered her knees to her chest, and kicked it off. Squalling, it landed on its back, flailed, and she brought her whip down to slice it in half.

“Was anyone hit?” she yelled, whirling around.

A trio of Byakhees had backed Yukari into a corner. Tiny lights danced in front of her eyes, throwing off her aim: all of her arrows flew wide. Growling, Ann sprinted forward, drew back her whip, snapped it across the Shadows’ backs. When they turned to face her, she struck again, reducing them all to black puddles.

“Morgana!” Ann said, catching Yukari’s arm. “I need—”

“I’m tapped,” Morgana said. He looked around at Ann, his pupils pinpricks. “Do you—can she—”

He was sitting beside Yosuke, who lay white and still, his muddy hair plastered to his face. Ann’s mouth went dry.

“Yukari,” Ann said, shaking her. “Can you see enough to heal?”

“I don’t know,” Yukari mumbled, swaying on her feet. “I can try.”

“Yosuke’s—”

With a screech, yet another Byakhee bubbled up out of the earth and vaulted toward Ann. She had enough time to punch it in the side, knuckles scraping against its chitin, before three more, four more, _five more_ joined it, swarming toward her, their teeth clicking in their jaws. And on top of that the clouds were rumbling again, the telltale electricity crackling in the air as the great eye geared up for another—

“ _God’s Hand_!” Ryuji roared, and the Byakhee nearest Ann pancaked under a massive, cartoon boxing glove.

“Ryuji,” Ann gasped.

“ _Ryuji_?” Yukari said, shaking her head hard.

He landed on top of the Byakhee he’d flattened, shot Ann the grin that was the entire reason they had three kids and, let’s be honest, were probably going have one or two more; and he spun around and lifted Mjolnir over his head. “ _Thunder Reign_!”

Thunder clapped so hard that the ground shook, and a wall of yellow light swept across not just their section of the field but all the other sections too, passing harmlessly over the Persona users and frying the Shadows alive. “ _Yeah, Skull_!” Futaba whooped.

Yukari, finally blinking away the last of her dizziness, knelt beside Yosuke and got to work reviving him. Ann, rooted to the spot, stared and stared at her husband, who looked altogether too pleased with himself.

“Hey,” he said, spinning Mjolnir casually. “How’s it goin’?”

“You,” she whispered, and bristled, and socked him in the shoulder. “ _Idiot_!”

He yelped, flailing, and grabbed her arm when she took another swing. “What the hell?!”

“What are you _doing_ here?” Ann demanded. “Where are the girls?”

“They’re at Haru’s! They’re fi—stop tryin' to hit me!”

“I know they’re at Haru’s, they’d better be at Haru’s, but why are _you_ —”

Ryuji seized both of her wrists, dialed up the wattage on his smile until it was brighter than the lightning, until it brought tears to Ann’s eyes. “Akechi did it,” Ryuji said. “Ren’s back.”

***

He was back, and he’d forgotten how much fun the Metaverse could be.

The thing was, he’d never realized how much control he had over it, before. All those months collecting Will Seeds, stumbling across convenient air vents, finding random hooks that precisely fit his grapple—he’d taken for granted that these were normal Metaverse occurrences. They were not. He’d _made_ them. And now, sprinting headlong down a tentacle as thick and broad as a highway, he did it again.

Bending down, he flicked his dagger into his palm and let the blade trail along the tentacle. Its hide parted like wet paper, gushing a thin, brackish fluid; the tendril twitched, and throbbed, and finally snapped upward, catapulting Ren into the air.

Laughter punched its way out of his chest as he spread his arms, the tails of his suitcoat flapping, and bellowed, “Apollo! _Nova Kaiser_!”

The clouds parted, revealing a dizzying expanse of sparkling stars. Eight of them suddenly blazed brighter, rotated, throwing light like faceted jewels across the battlefield below. And then they exploded, one right after the other, painting the night sky first blue, then white, burning themselves onto the backs of Ren’s eyelids; and when he opened his eyes again it was to look down, down, at the innumerable orbs of teal energy that struck Shadows left, right, and center, reducing them to so much ash.

As gravity caught up with Ren, slow at first and then thrillingly fast, all of the tentacles rose up at once and whipped toward him. Smiling so big it hurt, Ren swung and swerved away from each of them, occasionally kicking off of one to give himself an extra burst of momentum. His heart was a hot air balloon, propelling him across the sky.

Then a tendril came hurtling up at him, and it wasn’t going to hit him, he was going to dodge at the last moment; but an arm slipped around his waist and pulled him out of the way.

“You truly are a show-off,” Akechi muttered into his ear, his breath deliciously hot and ticklish.

“You love it,” Ren replied, with a jaunty smirk. Akechi scoffed against his cheek, practically audibly rolled his eyes, but he didn’t protest when Ren pulled him closer.

They were getting nearer to the heart of the action: to the massive eye looming among stubborn clouds, its pupil widening as it geared up for another Almighty blast. Ren braced, tightening his grip on Akechi—

—and then a tall, slender figure rocketed past, arced beneath them, twirled in midair to smile with teeth as green as fresh bamboo. _Artemis_ —Ren didn’t know how he knew her name, but he did, and it made tears sting his eyes—extended her hand, and before Ren could think of reaching out, Chronos had caught it. Artemis’s smile widened. She tugged Chronos forward and kissed his forehead; and then she held out her other hand, and there was Apollo, linking their fingers together.

In a flash Artemis had swung the other two around so she could pull them behind her, and together they shot across the sky toward Nyarlathotep. As they went, they were engulfed in light, she in white, Chronos in silver, Apollo in gold; and they spun around and over and between each other, leaving effervescent trails like comets in their wake. Presently two more lights, one red and one green, rose to meet them, and together they spiraled up, up, up, and slammed directly into the enormous eye.

They burst like a firecracker, scattering blue and yellow and red sparks in all shades and hues, throwing so much flame and shrapnel into Nyarlathotep’s pupil that it shuddered, snapped shut, and vanished with an outraged roar that shook the earth.

“What the hell was that,” Akechi said, his voice curiously tight.

“Old friends,” Ren murmured. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. His heart was a fist behind his sternum.

Ren’s gaze landed on their final target: Nyarlathotep’s humanoid form, swaying and weaving between Yu, Yuki, Aigis, and Sumire like a snake in human skin. “Hang on tight.”

“I absolutely will not.”

“Your funeral.”

Ren drove his dagger into the next tentacle they passed. With a deft twist of his wrist, he sent them whirling in tight loops along the tendril’s length toward the ground, using the blade’s drag to slow their descent. And then, at the last second, he wrenched the knife out of the tentacle, sending them flying with an easy swing of his legs.

Akechi released his waist, but stayed close, angling his arms back. They were moving too fast, _way_ too fast, the wind screaming in Ren’s ears, but Ren had decided gravity didn’t matter, and so it didn’t.

They landed side by side, Ren’s right shoulder against Akechi’s left, their arms extended and guns level. They fired at precisely the same moment. Nyarlathotep’s head jerked back, twin bullets splattering out of the back of his skull.

There was a ringing silence, punctured only by the excitement still buzzing in Ren’s ears, by his own breath coming in ragged pants. Neither he nor Akechi lowered their weapons.

Slowly, as if on a rusted hinge, Nyarlathotep lifted his head. Blood traced twin paths down his face, contouring his wrinkled brow, his snarling mouth.

“What,” he said, “the fuck.”

“Miss me?” Ren asked.

Akechi _tsk_ ed and lowered his gun. “You could _try_ to take this seriously.”

Ren beamed at him. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“You’re dead,” Nyarlathotep spat.

“Who says?”

“ _I say_. I killed you.”

Ren looked down at himself. “Hmm. Doesn’t seem like it stuck.”

“Of course it did,” Nyarlathotep retorted, curling his lip. Blood trickled across sharp teeth. “Or it should have. This wasn’t a trick; you were dead. So how—”

“Ask him,” Ren said, jerking his head at Akechi.

Nyarlathotep scowled.

“Goro Akechi,” he said. Akechi sighed. “So that’s where you’ve been. You snuck off to the Sea of Souls. How?” He didn’t give Akechi time to answer. “You couldn’t have gotten there without help. Igor and his pets cannot take humans there. So—”

An eerie light came into his eyes.

“I _see_ ,” he breathed, straightening up. “Yes…I see. Philemon helped you.”

“Of course I did.”

Philemon pushed gently between Ren and Akechi and padded forward with his hands in his pockets. Nyarlathotep stiffened.

“What are you doing here?” he gasped, taking a step back. Then he flushed, and drew himself up, and said, “Meddling, as usual. I should have known.”

“It’s been a long time,” Philemon murmured, tilting his head.

Ren was briefly distracted from this tableau by Yu, who grabbed him by the ears and kissed him full on the mouth. Then, as Yu spun away to pull Yosuke into a fierce hug, Yuki clapped Ren’s shoulder, offering a rare smile. Aigis threw her arms around first Ren and then Akechi.

And _then_ the Phantom Thieves descended, babbling incoherently: Sumire and Futaba got there first, latching onto his arms, followed by Morgana to his shin, and finally Ann, Makoto, Haru, and Yusuke to his waist. He didn’t have enough limbs to hug them all back, so he didn’t try; just tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned against them, flushed with relief.

Ryuji was the only one who didn’t velcro himself to Ren. Instead, he propped his elbow on Akechi’s shoulder. Akechi let him.

Nyarlathotep sneered at Philemon. “You think you’re so _holy_ ,” he said, red eyes flicking across the swamp, across the Persona users clustering together. “So good and pure. _Humans are worth saving, Nyarlathotep, really they are_. Hah! If left to their own devices, they would—”

“That debate is over,” Philemon said.

“Is it, now? Because you decided? Because you bent the rules and cheated the system, _again_? Philemon the saint, Philemon the martyr, putting his thumb on the scale—”

He broke off, bristling, because Philemon was advancing on him. Recoiling would have been a show of weakness, so he stood firm, but his shoulders seemed to broaden, his elbows sharpen, as Philemon approached.

“There’s no system,” Philemon said. “The game is over. The rules are null.”

Nyarlathotep blinked, opened his mouth, closed it. “Wh—but—”

Philemon stopped only when they stood toe-to-toe, leaning in so their noses almost touched.

“It’s time,” he said, lifting his hand to Nyarlathotep’s forehead, “to forge a new deal.”

And he swiped his fingertips across the bullet holes. They closed. Nyarlathotep gaped at him.

“Whoa,” Futaba muttered, from the general vicinity of Ren’s armpit. “I ship it.”

“I know, right?” Ann whispered. “They’re just like—”

She broke off, and six pairs of eyes—Ann’s, Haru’s, Makoto’s, Futaba’s, Morgana’s, and Sumire’s—swiveled to look first at Ren, and then at Akechi. Akechi glared.

“Don’t compare us to them,” he snapped.

“I don’t see it, personally,” Yusuke remarked.

“You don’t see much,” Morgana replied.

“I beg your pardon—”

Philemon turned around, and everyone shut up.

“I should apologize to the rest of you,” he said, rubbing his bloody fingers together, “for the pain and suffering my friend has caused.”

“ _Friend_?” Nyarlathotep sputtered.

“You’ll find, once you return home, that all is as it should be. No one will remember what Kubo did to you, or what he said about you. The damage to your lives has been repaired.” Philemon smiled. “I hope, genuinely, that we never meet again.”

And he snapped his fingers. Fog billowed up from the marsh, swirling around their ankles, their shins, their hips, rising higher and higher until they were completely consumed.

When it cleared, they—along with Ren’s parents, Nanako, Chidori, Akihiko, Kanji, and all of their children—were standing in Ren and Akechi’s house.

***

Kubo sat up, gasping.

He was—alive. He pawed at himself, his neck and head and chest. Alive. How? The last thing he remembered was that—that _guy_ , whoever he was, staring at him from the other end of a gun, eyes glowing red. How had he—why had he—

“Be grateful,” said a soft, vicious, feminine voice.

Kubo nearly leapt out of his skin. Whipping around, he scrambled backward and pressed his shoulders to the wall, lifting his arm to shield his face.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the voice said, venomous with scorn. “So long as you behave.”

Kubo huddled there for a second, wheezing, shaking so hard his teeth rattled. Eventually, he opened one eye and peeked.

A woman in an elaborate blue gown stood over him, her pale hair falling forward to frame her face as she tipped her chin down. Kubo swallowed, coughed his clammy tongue back into his mouth.

“Uh,” he said. “Thanks?”

The woman’s golden eyes narrowed. “You are back where you belong,” she said. “If you attempt to escape…if you come near Ren Akechi or his family again…you will answer to me. Do you understand?”

Kubo goggled at her. Her eyes flashed.

“I said,” she hissed, “ _do you understand_?”

Kubo shook himself. “Yes,” he managed. “Yes, I understand.”

And she was gone. Just like that.

Carefully, not sure he trusted his luck to hold, Kubo folded his legs, clasped his knees, looked around the cell. His cell, exactly as he’d left it. He couldn’t remember, now, why he’d wanted to leave so badly. At least in here, that guy couldn’t get to him. The memory of those eyes, that smile, the cold gunmetal ring against Kubo’s forehead, made his stomach clench and his skin crawl. Shuddering, he stretched out on his side and pulled the blanket over himself.

But he didn’t sleep. It would be a long time before he ever did again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [because they’ve met before](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450721/chapters/60164548#chapter_8_endnotes), of course.
> 
> Every sign of the Western Zodiac is associated with a particular color or set of colors. In no particular order, Cancer is white; Aquarius is silver; Leo is gold; Scorpio is red; and Gemini is green. Just throwing that out there. No special reason.
> 
> (except that I put A Lot of thought into the ways that people’s souls translate into Personas after death and the whole concept of inheritance and reincarnation and—anyway @ me, I'm on [twitter](https://twitter.com/frockbot))


	16. In Our Bedroom After the War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qotDKQHxySk)
> 
> [_All the living are dead, and the dead are all living_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qotDKQHxySk)
> 
> [
> 
> _The war is over and we are beginning_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qotDKQHxySk)

There was a great deal of confusion as thirty-plus people, several of them small and one of them feline, tried to negotiate suddenly appearing in Ren’s living room.

“Ow! You’re on my foot—”

“Watch out for the kids!”

“Grab Hayato, grab Hayato—”

“Junpei, hold still!”

“Everyone stop!” Mitsuru barked.

“Be quiet,” Makoto Niijima added.

“Listen,” Rise said.

They all froze, even the toddlers.

Mitsuru clapped her hands. “ _Right_. We need to get organized. Let’s see. Chie, Naoto, Ken, please step into the hallway. Thank you. Now, Nanako, if you’d be so kind as to pick Hayato up—”

“C’mon,” Rise said from somewhere further off. “Yu, Yosuke, you guys sit down at the kitchen table—perfect—and now—”

Makoto, her jaw set in a ferocious line, elbowed her way through the press of bodies to Ren. “You,” she said, seizing his arm, “need to sit. Coming through!”

“I’m okay,” Ren protested, but let her drag him across the room—only a few feet, which felt like miles—and shove him onto the couch. His butt had barely hit the seat before his daughters found him, Sai climbing into his lap and Maya perching stiffly beside him until he put his arm around her and pulled her close.

“Is it over?” Maya asked.

Ren rested his cheek on top of her head. “Yes.”

“Good.”

He closed his eyes. Sai’s head was warm against his sternum, her tiny heart fluttering on his ribs. Maya’s shoulders rose and fell steadily as she leaned into him. He listened to their combined breathing, to the hustle and bustle and occasional fuss as Mitsuru, Rise, and Makoto herded everyone into some semblance of order. Presently a light, warm softness he recognized as Morgana sprang onto his shoulder and draped across the back of his neck, purring, kneading his claws into Ren’s shirt.

Ren didn’t wake up so much as drift into consciousness. He was lying on his back on the couch—that one spring was prodding his spine—with his head on the nicest throw pillow they owned. All around him were the ripple and hum of dozens of voices, punctured occasionally by a burst of laughter followed by fierce shushing. Didn’t they know the shushing was worse than the laughing?

“The shushing is worse than the laughter, you know,” Yu remarked. Ren smiled.

His limbs were liquid; sleep pressed down on his eyes; Morgana was a comforting weight on his chest. He could have drifted off again, easy.

The only reason he didn’t was the smell, resolving itself suddenly into curry, and not just any curry. Swallowing the dryness in his mouth, wincing when it scraped his throat, Ren got his elbows underneath him and sat up halfway. Morgana lifted his head.

“Hi,” Ren murmured.

Morgana blinked, eyes shining, and pushed his face against Ren’s cheek. “Hi,” he squeaked.

“Aw,” Ren said, petting him. “Missed me, huh?”

“Shut up,” Morgana protested, sniffling.

Ren rested his forehead against Morgana’s. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For taking the girls. For keeping them safe.”

“Course.” He was purring in raw, throaty bursts, as close to sobs as a cat could get. “Course I did. I l-love them.”

Ren smiled. “I love you, too.”

“Sap,” Morgana mumbled, but he buried his face in Ren’s shirt and carried right on purring while Ren scratched his ears.

“You’re awake,” said Akechi quietly.

Ren looked up. Akechi was sitting at the other end of the couch, his head propped on his fist. Ren’s legs were draped across his lap.

“So are you,” Ren replied, noting the soft, sweet lines of his lips, his eyebrows. Even after all this time, he never looked this relaxed unless he’d just woken up.

“I wasn’t sleeping.”

Grinning, Ren leaned forward, and Morgana wisely sprang out of the way so Ren could press a kiss to Akechi’s mouth, plush and pliant. Akechi caught him, held him there, inhaling deeply as if to savor his scent; then he pressed his nails against Ren’s scalp and pushed him back.

“You should go talk to Sojiro.”

Ren’s chest constricted. He nodded, swung his feet off the couch, and stopped, raising his eyebrows. There were still too many people in the room, sandwiched together on the floor and against the walls; and they were _all_ staring at him, perfectly still and silent.

Then someone coughed pointedly, “ _a-hem_ ,” and everyone resumed their conversations at twice the volume.

Ren stood up carefully, testing his weight. His legs seemed amenable, although they didn’t quite remember how walking worked; he had a couple of false starts. He edged through the chattering crowd and stepped into the kitchen.

The Wild Cards, Yosuke, and Sumire had either claimed or been assigned to the kitchen table, and they all looked around as Ren approached. Sumire got to her feet, eyes wet and mouth trembling, and Ren accepted her hug, pressing his face briefly into her shoulder.

“I’m so glad you’re back,” she whispered, squeezing tight.

Ren was surprised to find his eyebrows furrowing, his throat closing. “Me, too,” he croaked.

Sumire drew back, smiled at him. “If you and Akechi need some privacy, say the word.”

“Yeah,” Yosuke put in, giving Sumire the chance to turn away and wipe her eyes. “You can tell us to get lost anytime.”

“Noted,” Ren replied.

Then he turned toward Sojiro Sakura, who stood at the stove, stirring a pot of curry with his head bowed. His stooped, sloping shoulders were tense, and his free hand was fisted in his pocket, but otherwise he gave no sign that he knew Ren was there.

Yu cleared his throat and stood up, nudging Yosuke. “Let’s go sit on the couch.”

“Aigis and I will go sit in the backyard for a while,” Yuki said, rising.

“It’s November,” Sumire pointed out, doubtfully.

“I don’t feel the cold,” Aigis assured her.

“And I don’t mind,” Yuki said.

“Maybe I’ll come with you...”

They filed out, Yu ruffling Ren’s hair as he passed. Ren fussed with it for a second, hoping to give Sojiro time to acknowledge his presence. He didn’t. He just kept stirring.

Ren lowered his hands. “Need a hand?”

Sojiro didn’t answer right away. Despite what was now an absolute cacophony behind them—a wall of noise clearly designed to drown out their conversation—Ren was very aware of the dull scrape of the wooden spoon against the inside of the pan.

Sojiro’s back straightened as he inhaled. “You could start the rice,” he said.

Ren did, in practiced, automatic motions. Measure the water, measure the grains, shut the lid, set the time. While he worked, Sojiro switched off the gas, tasted the sauce, grunted with satisfaction.

“Good?” Ren asked.

“Yup.”

“It smells good.”

Sojiro braced his hands on the edge of the counter and stared at the side of the fridge. (So he didn’t have to look at Ren? So Ren couldn’t see his expression?) Ren leaned back against the cabinets, sank his hands into his pockets, and crossed his ankles.

The rice had started to steam before Sojiro spoke again.

“It wasn’t a trick this time,” he said. “You were dead.”

“Yes.”

“If it was a trick, you would’ve warned me.”

“Yes.”

Sojiro made a strange sound, half cough, half sniff, and straightened up. “Then we’re fine,” he said. “Plates still up here?” he added, opening a cabinet.

Ren blinked. “Were we...not fine, before?”

“Don’t sweat it.”

“Why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m not _not_ looking at you,” Sojiro replied gruffly, stacking plates on the counter.

“Are you afraid of what you’ll see?”

“No.”

Lie number one. “Are you mad at me?”

“Course not.”

Lie number two. “Sojiro,” Ren said quietly, “I didn’t know—”

“Yes you did,” Sojiro countered, low and rough as a rasp. “People’ve been dying for _months_ , Futaba said. People like you. You didn’t think you should tell me?”

“None of us realized we were in danger until it was too late.”

Sojiro looked at him then, finally, gaze razor-sharp behind his glasses. Ren’s breath caught.

“Yes, you did,” Sojiro repeated. “Or you would have, if you’d thought about it for two seconds.”

Ren nodded slowly. “Maybe you’re right. But even if we’d told you, you couldn’t have stopped it from—”

Sojiro bristled and leveled a finger at him. “Don’t act like you know what this is,” he growled. “Don’t act like you understand.”

“It isn’t like with—”

“ _It’s got nothing to do with Wakaba_. It’s to do with you, getting yourself in trouble even though you’ve got kids depending on you—”

“Trouble came to me.”

“It always does, and you never do anything to stop it.”

A seed of ice rooted in Ren’s stomach, began to bloom. “That’s not fair.”

“You wanted to talk about this,” Sojiro barked, slamming his hand on the countertop. “You pushed the point, and now—I know it isn’t fair. You know what else isn’t fair? Getting a call in the middle of the day from Futaba, melting down, telling me to get over to some temple because your _dead body_ is there and somebody has to give you the matsugo-no-mizu.” Ren looked away, down at his feet, shut his eyes. “Opening my door to that damn cat and Sai crying and Maya saying that some man showed up and took you away—”

“I’m grateful,” Ren said, half-expecting his breath to mist in the air. “I’m grateful that you—”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” Sojiro said. “I want it to not have happened.”

“I can’t give you that.”

“I know,” Sojiro sighed, deflating all at once. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” Ren said. His nails, short as they were, cut into his palms. “You’re right. I should’ve told you everything. I didn’t want to worry you. I thought it would be okay.”

“Yeah, well.” Sojiro sighed again, deeper, like he was exhaling his anger. “It’s not your fault.”

Ren forced himself to turn and face Sojiro, who looked straight at him, stark and unwavering.

“Still,” Ren said. “I’m sorry.”

After a moment, Sojiro said, “What happened to the guy who hurt you, anyway? Kubo.”

“He’s gone.”

“Dead?”

“No.”

“Hmph,” Sojiro grunted. “Akechi’s gone soft.”

The rice cooker beeped.

“There’s dinner,” Sojiro said, straightening up. “Help me dish out.”

***

Once again, Mitsuru, Makoto, and Rise took charge. They oversaw the distribution of plates, the placement of various toddlers at the kitchen table, and the assignment of overseers for said toddlers: Akechi, Nanako, Ryuji, and Akihiko. The Takamaki girls seemed a little in awe of Akihiko, and ate, for once, without issue.

Yu and Yosuke were the last to get their plates: Ren brought them over, expertly balanced in one hand. Ren’s fingers brushed Yu’s as Yu accepted his plate, and he was startled by how cold they were. He was even more startled by the look on Ren’s face: wan, and closed, and visibly tired in a way that he was usually better at hiding.

“Are you okay?” Yu asked.

“Yes,” Ren replied, folding himself onto the cushion next to Yu. “Just tired.”

“Food’ll help,” said Yosuke. “This looks great, dude.”

“I can’t take credit,” Ren said. He pushed a spoonful of rice into his curry, scooped it up, didn’t put it in his mouth. “Sojiro’ll be pleased you like it, though.”

“Well, I haven’t tasted it yet.” With great pomp and circumstance, Yosuke arranged a spoonful of curry and rice and popped it into his mouth. He melted into the couch. “ _God_. Heaven.”

Ren smiled. His skin was waxy. “Sojiro’s a master.”

“Ren,” Yu began, but Ren looked at his food.

“So,” he said, “what happened while I was gone?”

“Oh man,” Yosuke said, “tons of stuff. Where do we start?”

“I’m not sure,” Yu said.

“First off,” Yosuke said, “we had to tell everybody what’d happened to you. That was…” He swallowed heavily, frowned. “That was bad. I never want to do anything like that again.”

Yu took over from there, hoping he could steer the conversation into stale, easily-digested factual territory. But the longer he talked, the more he suspected he shouldn’t have been talking at all. The color in Ren’s face, already thin and milky, gradually left it, and his mouth tightened to a barely-visible line. Every time Yu tapered off, though, Yosuke filled in another detail, and then Ren stared expectantly at Yu until he picked up the thread again.

“But,” Yosuke said finally, “it sounds like Philemon was on the level.” At Ren’s puzzled look, he added, “He fixed it. All of it. I mean, obviously, because your house isn’t a wreck anymore. And Yu—”

“I called the school,” Yu said, waggling his phone. “I’m still on payroll.”

Not even _back_ on payroll. The secretary had seemed baffled by the implication that he wouldn’t be welcomed back with open arms. His students were ready to mutiny, she’d said. The sooner he resumed his post, the better.

“Good,” Ren said, looking down at his congealed curry. “I’m glad.”

Yu frowned, opened his mouth to ask the critical question, but Yosuke interrupted him: “Soo,” he said, faux casual. “What was it like for you? You know.” Ren’s grip on his plate tightened. “On _the other side_.”

“Yosuke,” Yu said.

“I’m only curious! You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“I can’t remember,” Ren said. He said it with a straight face, but it was _obviously_ a lie, because he still wouldn’t look at either of them. “All I remember is Akechi waking me up.”

Yosuke blinked. “Waking you up—were you sleeping?”

Ren shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Huh.” Yosuke’s eyebrows furrowed. “Weird. Does that mean there’s no afterlife? But wait, how could Akechi wake you up if—”

“Your food’s gone cold,” Yu pointed out.

Ren glanced at it like he’d forgotten it was there. “Oh,” he said. “I’d better go heat it up.”

And he got up, maybe too fast, because he almost stumbled. Yu reached for him, but he recovered and made his way back to the kitchen.

Sighing through his nose, Yu slumped back in his seat.

“He’ll be okay,” Yosuke muttered, frowning after him. “He just needs to rest.”

Akechi was standing behind Sai, juggling his curry in one hand while occasionally reaching down to help her with her spoon. He glanced over as Ren approached, and felt a blow at his throat. Ren looked _skeletal_. His skin was paper-white, shadows purpling like bruises beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks. He clearly hadn’t eaten a single bite, but he set his plate down anyway, like he expected Akechi not to notice.

Sai, thankfully, didn’t realize anything was wrong; she turned a sunny smile on Ren that seemed to thaw him out a little. His shoulders relaxed, and he smiled back at her.

“How’re we doing here?” he asked Akechi.

“Pretty well,” Akechi said, eyeing him. “Minimal casualties. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“You didn’t eat.”

“I had a few bites,” Ren said, and saw Akechi frown, and shook his head. “I’m just—”

“You should lie down,” Akechi said promptly. “Come with me. Ryuji, can you—”

“Yeah, man,” Ryuji said at once, frowning at Ren too. “You guys go, I’ll keep an eye on Sai.”

“We all will,” said Akihiko. “No worries.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Ren said. “I—”

“What’s wrong?” Morgana asked, hopping onto the table.

Mei, Suzume, and Uta shrieked; Sai gasped; Otome and Kai looked around; Maya dropped her spoon.

“Mona talked!” Mei shouted, pointing at him.

“You can _talk_ ,” Sai crowed, grabbing Morgana’s face.

“ _Gah_! Let go! Let g _yoooow_ ,” Morgana yowled, as Sai squeezed his cheeks.

“Um,” Otome said. “What, exactly…”

“Oh, can you hear him now?” Sojiro asked, wriggling his pinky in his ear. “You must’ve gone to the Negaverse.”

“The _Metaverse_ , Dad,” Futaba sighed.

“We have a talking cat?” Maya demanded, leaping up. “When were you gonna tell me we had a talking cat?”

“Never?” Ren said.

“I’m not a cat!” Morgana spat, squirming out of Sai’s grasp. “I’m the embodiment of human hope!”

Maya gaped at him, rounded on her dads. “When were you gonna tell me our cat was _the embodiment of human hope_?”

“Never,” Akechi said firmly.

“Wait a minute,” said Kano, getting up too. “You guys went to the Metaverse? When?”

“I want to go too!” Take said. “If Maya gets to—”

“She didn’t _get to_ ,” Ryuji said. “Kubo dragged us there.”

Maya narrowed her eyes. “That place with the weird lights? That’s the Metaverse?” She stopped. “What am I even talking about? What’s the Metaverse?”

“That’s a tricky question,” Ken said.

“No it’s not,” said Futaba.

“It’s a long story,” Haru amended gently. “But I suppose we’d better tell it.”

“Where do we even start?” Junpei said, scratching his head.

“Chronologically?” Yukiko suggested.

“But there’s backstory,” Fuuka said. “We don’t want to confuse her—”

“Telling her _everything_ would take like, three hundred hours,” Kanji pointed out. “We ain’t got that kinda time.”

“We don’t have to tell her everything,” Yu said, cutting through the hubbub. “Here, Maya, come sit down by me. Mitsuru, why don’t you start?”

Ren was making a valiant effort to stay on his feet, but Akechi could see the tension in his arm as he leaned on the edge of the table. Akechi caught Akihiko’s eye, slipped his arm around Ren’s waist, and said, “Time for bed. Let’s go.”

While Akihiko assumed Sai-monitoring duty, Akechi steered Ren toward the hallway. Several people—Ren’s parents, Maya, and the Phantom Thieves—looked around, and Akechi tried to convey without speaking that everything was fine, absolutely fine, Ren was tired and needed to lie down, stay where you are. It worked. They made it into the hall without issue.

The moment they were out of sight, though, Ren staggered. Akechi caught him, bore him up, slid Ren’s arm around his own shoulders. Ren was shivering, his fingers limp and icy against the fabric of Akechi’s shirt.

“Ren,” Akechi said, really afraid, but Ren shook his head.

“I’m just tired,” he mumbled. “It’s okay.”

Akechi couldn’t, and didn’t, put much stock in that; Ren would have said the same thing if he was actively bleeding out. Clenching his jaw, Akechi adjusted his grip and pulled him along.

They didn’t quite run into Sumire, Aigis, and Yuki coming back inside, but it was a narrow miss. Sumire stopped. “Oh my goodness,” she said. “What’s—”

Ren staggered again, taking Akechi so much by surprise that he almost dropped him; but in an instant Aigis was there, slinging his other arm around her neck. “I will carry him,” she informed Akechi, who nodded. Ignoring Ren’s bleat of protest, the android bent down and swept him into her arms. From there, it was the work of a moment to get him into their bedroom (which was, like the rest of the house, pristine) and under the duvet.

“Temperature in the extremities is low,” Aigis reported, sounding more robotic than ever as she ran her hands along Ren’s body. “Likely blood is being diverted to the core to maintain vital functions.”

Through the roaring in his ears, Akechi heard himself say, “Lavenza.”

She appeared beside him, took one look at his expression, and pivoted. “Excuse me,” she said, gently brushing Aigis aside, and leaned over Ren, cupping his face in her hands.

“You’re all being really dramatic,” Ren muttered, but he let Lavenza peer into his pupils, skim her hands along his cheeks and throat, even press her ear to his sternum. Akechi, frozen by the door, barely noticed when Sumire took his hand.

“For what it’s worth,” Yuki said quietly, suddenly at Akechi’s shoulder, “when I died, I felt warm, not cold.”

Akechi’s neck seized as his head whipped around. “ _So what_?”

“So he’s probably not dying.”

“Extreme exhaustion can cause these symptoms,” Aigis added, before Akechi could tear Yuki’s face off. “The weakness, the cold…is he nauseous, as well?”

“He didn’t eat,” Akechi said.

Aigis nodded. “I’m sure that’s all it is. Exhaustion.”

“I think so too,” Lavenza said, straightening up.

Akechi didn’t let himself collapse, because once he did he knew he’d never get up again, but he came close. Sumire closed her eyes and twined their fingers together.

“His heartbeat is normal,” Lavenza added. Her mouth was pinched, her forehead wrinkled, but she was smiling, just a little. “Breathing normal. Temperature coming up to normal. He could probably use some more blankets.”

“Blankets,” Akechi said, stumbling over his own tongue. “Fine.”

“He’s been through an ordeal,” Lavenza said, smoothing Ren’s hair from his face. He grumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _I told you so_. “Physically and psychically. Even though his wounds are healed, it’ll take time for him to recover his strength. You might have to tie him to the bed.”

“I resent that,” Ren said.

“Please,” Lavenza said, smirking. “We both know you rarely, if ever, consent to rest.”

“Oh, he’ll rest, all right,” Akechi growled. “Or I’ll kill him.”

“Wouldn’t killing me defeat the purpose?”

“Thank you, Lavenza,” Akechi said, ignoring him. “We’ll take it from here.”

Lavenza leaned down to kiss Ren’s forehead. “ _Sleep_ , Trickster,” she ordered.

Ren stuck his tongue out at her.

Lavenza curtseyed to Akechi, and was gone.

“All right,” Akechi said, gently pulling his hand from Sumire’s, adjusting his sleeves. His hair clung damp to his temples. “I’ll stay with him until he falls asleep.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Ren mumbled.

“Are you sure?” Sumire asked. “We could stay, too…”

“No, no. You all go back to the party. Run interference with the others. The last thing he needs is everyone piling in on him.”

“No, it’s much better if it’s just you,” Ren said.

Sumire searched Akechi’s expression, and nodded at whatever she found there. “Okay. If you need us…”

“I’ll call,” Akechi assured her. “Thank you for your help, all of you.”

“Feel better, Ren,” Aigis said. Ren extracted his arm and waved.

Once they’d gone, Akechi marched over to the closet, flung it open, and hauled down their substantial stack of blankets.

“Akechi,” Ren said.

“Quiet,” Akechi said, dropping the blankets on the bed and snapping one open. “Go to sleep.”

“ _Akechi_.”

Akechi tossed blanket number one neatly over him and prepped blanket number two. “You can’t sleep if you’re talking.”

“I can’t sleep,” Ren said, as the second blanket flopped across him, “if I’m buried under six feet of fabric, either.”

“You are never allowed to joke about six feet of anything again.”

“Okay.” Blanket number three dropped into place. “Seven feet of fabric.”

“I can’t believe,” Akechi snapped, glowering as he unfolded the fourth blanket, a thin crocheted thing, “that you could still, _still_ , be so stubborn that you’d—”

“I don’t need this many blankets.”

“—practically fall down in the living room, make all those people worry—”

“Make _you_ worry.”

“—just so you wouldn’t have to admit you were tired—”

“You’re one to talk,” Ren said.

He started to sit up. Akechi rounded on him. “Be _still_ ,” he snarled. “Lavenza says you need to rest, so you’re going to _rest_ —”

“I don’t need five blankets,” Ren replied irritably, shoving two of them off. “I need you. Get over here.”

Akechi stopped, squinted. “I’m not having sex with you.”

Ren gave him a dry, borderline scornful look. “You always know how to set the mood. I mean, I need to use you as a human heating pad.”

“What—”

“I want to _cuddle you_ , Goro, get _over_ here.”

Goro blinked. “Oh,” he said.

Ren leaned forward, grabbed his arm, and hauled him onto the bed. “Butt up,” he instructed, pushing until Goro obeyed, and he arranged the blankets and duvet over both of them. Then, before Goro could comprehend how it happened, Goro was snuggled against Ren’s side, his arm across Ren’s chest and his leg across his hips, his head tucked into Ren’s shoulder. Ren put his own arm around Goro’s neck, closed his eyes, and pressed his nose into Goro’s hair.

Ren didn’t feel cold to the touch anymore, which went a long way toward easing the painful knot in Goro’s throat. Even now, after everything, he couldn’t quite believe he was here, with Ren’s heart beating against his arm and Ren’s ribs expanding and contracting against his chest and Ren’s breath tickling the crown of his head.

Goro whispered, “It should have been me.”

Ren’s fingers curled into a fist in Goro’s shirt. “No.”

“ _Yes_. I shouldn’t have left. I should have known better.” Goro huffed a laugh, bittersweet as chocolate. “I should have realized that the best revenge would be killing you, not me.”

“If you’d stayed,” Ren said, with deliberate calm, “then we’d both have died, because neither of us would have let Kubo—”

“You would have,” Goro said. “You would have stayed behind to keep the girls safe.”

A tremor rippled through Ren’s body. He said nothing.

“And then,” Goro added, “after, you would have known what to say. What to _do_. I was a fucking mess without you. I was—”

“Upset, and grieving, and—”

“Useless.”

“Obviously not,” Ren said. “Maya and Sai don’t look like they’ve spent the last two days—”

“Three days.”

“Three days starving. They’re washed, and clothed. You managed to find time to take care of them _and_ cheat death. Not half bad.” Goro opened his mouth, but Ren said, “How did you, anyway? Cheat death.”

Goro paused, and shifted closer. “Maya said it wasn’t fair,” he replied. “And she was right. Igor, Lavenza, the other attendants—the whole point of the Velvet Room is to give you the power to protect yourself when you need it. But it didn’t. You died for no reason.”

“So you went in there and yelled at them until they called Philemon?”

“Until Lavenza agreed to find Philemon,” Akechi said. Ren grunted. “He was missing.”

Ren shook his head. “Still finding ways to one-up me, after all this time.”

Akechi laughed despite himself. It caught on something jagged in his chest.

They lay there like that for a while, Ren kneading small circles into Akechi’s shoulder, Akechi sinking deeper into Ren’s warmth, lulled by his steady heartbeat.

“Akechi,” Ren said eventually. “I’m sorry.”

Frowning, Akechi tipped his face up. “For what?”

Ren stared at the ceiling for so long that Akechi thought he hadn’t heard him. But then he said, “I don’t know. Dying, I guess.”

“Please. That was hardly your fault.”

“I tried to fight him.” From this angle, Akechi could see, bright as moonlight, the fresh, slim scars across the underside of Ren’s jaw. “I tried to get away.”

“Don’t think about that now.”

“At the end, I—” Ren’s chest rose on a ragged breath. “I couldn’t fight anymore. I didn’t—think about you, or—”

Hatred flooded, hot as liquid iron, into Akechi’s gut. Kubo was damn fucking lucky that Lavenza had spirited him away somewhere. “You were being tortured,” he said, “and murdered. I’d certainly hope you weren’t thinking about me.”

Ren seemed to wilt. “Still,” he said. “Still. I’m sorry.”

“Look,” Akechi said, bumping his nose against Ren’s chin. “I’ll call Chuichi and Hinata and see if they can fit me and Maya in tomorrow. I’ll ask Chuichi to recommend someone for you.”

Ren tensed. “I don’t think—”

“You don’t think you need to see a shrink?”

“Don’t call us shrinks.”

“Exactly,” Akechi said briskly. “You don’t have to go right now, but you have to go sometime.”

Ren managed a thin, filmy smile. “Goro Akechi, advocating therapy? Be still my heart.”

“You have only yourself to blame.”

Ren smoothed his hand down Akechi’s arm, along his side, and back up again. “I love you.”

“Ha,” Akechi muttered, pressing his face into Ren’s throat. “You have no idea.”

***

When Ren woke up, it was much later.

He was curled on his side, surrounded by warmth: a soft, amorphous, purring shape pressed between his shoulderblades, and a bonier, humanoid shape nestled in his arms. Sai. A glance through the gloom revealed Maya on Sai’s other side, sprawled on her stomach with her mouth open; and Akechi beyond her, asleep on his back. Ren smiled.

He could have lain there forever, cuddling with his family, safe and whole for the first time in days. But he’d woken up for a reason, and so he tilted his head back to look at the glowing blue butterfly perched on the headboard. Its wings flexed slowly up and down.

Carefully, Ren uncoiled Sai and nudged her closer to her sister. She snuggled readily into Maya’s side, smacking her lips. Then Ren sat up, slipping Morgana into the hollow left by his body. The cat purred louder for a moment and then subsided, burrowing his head into the mattress.

As soon as Ren’s feet touched the floor, the butterfly took flight. He got up, relieved to find that his earlier exhaustion was gone, and followed it out of the room, down the hall, and into the backyard. The air should have been cold, the patio biting beneath his heels, but Ren didn’t feel it.

Philemon stood with his back to Ren, hands clasped behind him, apparently examining the remnants of the garden. He turned.

“You rang?” he said.

“No,” Ren said. “I didn’t.”

“Oh, I heard it quite distinctly. You called, and I came. I figured I owed it to you.”

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Nyarlathotep?”

Philemon smiled. “I can be in two places at once,” he said. “But even if I couldn’t, the negotiations are over. We’ve reached an agreement. One that doesn’t involve humanity.”

“Good.”

Philemon cocked his head. “So. Why did you call me?”

“I don’t know,” Ren lied.

What little he could see of Philemon’s expression softened. “Ren.”

Ren looked away, fought down the question clawing into his throat. He couldn’t say it. If he said it, it would be real. If he said it, he’d have to reckon with the answer.

In the Sea of Souls, he’d been able to push it to the back of his mind. He’d thrown himself into escaping, and when he’d failed at that, he’d switched off his brain and let his feet carry him wherever they wanted to go. Then, he’d been so happy to see Akechi and so focused on what came next that the issue—the twisting, writhing worm in his subconscious—had flown his head.

Until today, when Sojiro had said that trouble always came for Ren, and he never did anything to stop it. In this life, he hadn’t. Or he…thought he hadn’t. He couldn’t be sure anymore. There were memories in his head that shouldn’t have been there, couldn’t have been there, if he wasn’t himself. But then again—

“Am I,” he said, “me?”

Philemon blinked.

“Now that,” he said slowly, “is a very curious question.”

Ren didn’t respond. He swallowed bile, clenched his fists, waited.

“Why do you ask?”

“Why won’t you answer?”

“Did you see something in the Sea of Souls?”

“Can’t you read my mind?” Ren snapped. “Can’t you tell?”

“Of course I could,” Philemon replied. “But that would be a violation of the highest order.”

“Well, I’m giving you permission. Just _look_. I don’t want to explain it, I just want to know—”

“I’m not going to read your mind, Ren. But I will say: you shouldn’t put too much stock in anything you saw in the world of the dead. It’s a malleable place. Things slip through that shouldn’t.”

“Things like souls?” Ren demanded, the words acid in his mouth.

“Things like memories.” Philemon studied him for a second, eyes glinting. “It would be easy for a wire or two to get crossed. For you to remember things that don’t belong to you.”

“But not,” Ren insisted, desperately, “for me to _be_ someone who doesn’t belong to me.”

Philemon’s irises were outright glowing now, searchlights in the dark, greenish and animal. “You are you.”

“But am I the me that’s supposed to be here, or—”

“Is anyone supposed to be anywhere?”

Ren bared his teeth. “If you can’t give me a straight answer, then go away.”

Philemon drew himself up until he was towering, until his head could have scraped the stars. “Ren Akechi,” he said, in a voice that buzzed like locusts in a golden field. “I have known your soul from the moment it was born, through every shape it has taken, by every name it has answered to. _You are you_. Whatever you saw belonged to a different Ren, who made different choices, and walked a different path.”

Ren slumped, put his face in his hands, took a deep and trembling breath. His knees felt like water.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “I was—thank you.”

When he finally lifted his head again, Philemon had returned to a normal human size, and his eyes had faded back to gold.

“Don’t take responsibility for choices you didn’t make,” Philemon advised. “Don’t punish yourself for sins you didn’t commit.”

Ren’s dry throat clenched. “I—”

“I know you,” Philemon reminded him sharply. “And I know you won’t listen to me. But consider this: if that other Ren came to a bad end, and you saw it, then maybe he saw your life, too.” Ren blinked, and startled slightly when tears scoured his cheeks. “Maybe it was a comfort, in his final moments, to know that somewhere in the multiverse, things worked out. Maybe that’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.”

“I,” Ren said. “Maybe.”

Philemon shook his head. “That’s all I have to say on the matter. Was there anything else?”

“No,” Ren replied, wiping his face with his sleeves like a kid crying to his parents after a nightmare. “Thanks. It—you helped.”

“Be gentle with yourself,” Philemon said.

Ren opened his eyes. He was back in bed, snuggled between Morgana and Sai, staring across at Akechi and Maya. He lay there for a while, turning the conversation over in his mind, teasing apart the tangled knots.

Maybe it was a comfort…

He hoped so. Because it wasn’t for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phase 3 :: start


	17. Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwXUnxQcC-o)
> 
> [_When you say you love me (I’m scared)_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwXUnxQcC-o)
> 
> [
> 
> _Are we ever really gonna feel safe?_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwXUnxQcC-o)

Akechi was careful, the next morning, to usher Sai, Maya, and Morgana out of the bedroom without waking Ren. The house smelled like breakfast: boiled eggs, rice, nori, miso soup, and mackerel, which meant Otome and Kai were up already.

Maya marched straight into the kitchen. “Let me help,” she said, planting her feet.

Her grandparents blinked at her, at each other, and finally at Akechi, who said, “She always helps Ren cook.”

“All right,” Kai said. “Come and chop the tofu.”

“Good morning,” Otome added.

Morgana stuck his nose in the air and hopped onto the cat tower. Akechi said, “I have to give Sai her bath,” and walked away.

They were trying. If someone had asked him, “Don’t you think they’re trying?” he would have said yes. But two days of trying didn’t erase seventeen years of ignorance. Especially since—Akechi’s tongue curled at the memory—he’d heard the way Ren’s voice had cracked, seen how his shoulders quaked, when he’d met them in Haru’s apartment. Until Ren was ready to forgive them, Akechi wouldn’t. Maybe, just to spite them, he never would.

Sai was quiet and distracted during her bath, and roused herself only once she was dressed. “I like yellow,” she murmured, studying the duck on her shirt.

Akechi made a mental note to ask Hinata if Sai could start seeing her, too. In the meantime, he blew a raspberry on her cheek. She hunched her shoulders and giggled.

“I like yellow too,” he said, scooping her up. “Will you keep Morgana company while I wake up your dad?”

Sai smiled, and nodded. Akechi gave her a squeeze and carried her out to the living room.

“How much longer?” he asked Kai and Otome, setting Sai down.

“Half an hour, I think,” Otome replied. “Ren’s not up yet?”

“I’m going to get him now.” To Morgana, Akechi muttered, “Keep an eye on Sai for me.”

“You got it.”

The cat leapt to the floor. Sai sat in front of him, rested her hands on her knees, and leaned forward.

“What’s,” she said, deadly serious, “your favorite color?”

Akechi intended to walk into the bedroom, not-quite-close the door, and cross to the side of the bed. He intended to gently shake Ren’s shoulder, maybe even lean down to kiss him awake. In fact—yes, he definitely intended to kiss him awake. Thirty minutes was plenty of time, and they’d both earned a little indulgence. They wouldn’t _do_ anything; certainly nothing that required shutting the door. They would just make sure that everything still fit together the way it should. A lot could change in a few days, especially when one of you had spent those days in purgatory.

He intended to do all of that. Instead he stepped into the room and stood there.

From this vantage, he could see the outline of Ren’s legs, slightly bent, beneath the blankets; the slope of his shoulder; his forearm across the pillow; his chin and his nostrils and the barest suggestion of messy black hair. Akechi focused on the shoulder, watched it rise and fall as Ren breathed. Tried to reassure himself. See? He’s alive. He’s here. You did it.

So why did it feel so fragile?

Akechi turned on his heel, marched into the bathroom, closed the door as quietly as he could with shaking hands (which wasn’t very). He stared at the door, risked a glance at himself in the mirror: he looked as wild, as unhinged, as he felt, a frenzied dog off the leash. His stomach lurched, but the nausea subsided the instant he staggered toward the toilet.

He was wearing too many clothes; they clung to him, his shirt already soaking through to transparent, his pants wrinkling. He snatched one of the racing thoughts out of his brain and looked at it: _Maybe he should shower_. He hadn’t done that yet. But his feet wouldn’t move. Akechi caught the edge of the sink, clung to it, lowered his head and pressed it against the cool mirror. Tried to remember how to breathe.

This—was—another panic attack, or something like it. Why? What was there to panic about? Ren was here _._ Akechi had saved him. He’d done the impossible, which, of course he had. Who did the universe think it was, taking Ren away from him in the first place? It should have known, _Nyarlathotep_ should have known, that Akechi would fix it. That the only right place for Ren was here, with him. Not stumbling around the Sea of Souls, letting himself be whittled away to nothing. Not going...wherever. Ren belonged here, and so Akechi had brought him back.

But what if—

There were too many factors outside of their control. Accidents. Illnesses. Old grudges. Shido’s cronies, for example, had long since abandoned the hunt, but what was stopping them from resuming it? If Kubo could walk up to their front door and spirit Ren away, then anything could happen. And Akechi couldn’t stop it.

There would be no fixing it, next time. The day the world decided to take Ren away by some mundane, ordinary means, Akechi would not be allowed to venture into the Sea of Souls to find him.

 _The rest of her life, she’ll never be alone_ , Ren had said. _And neither will you_.

He was wrong. Akechi had been alone. For three terrible days, he’d been stripped of the first person since his mother who’d seen him for himself, and not for his potential. He’d decided to carry on for Maya and Sai’s sake, but he would never have stopped grieving. He would never have healed, or gotten over it, or moved past it, or even truly been happy, because there was a difference between smiling at the person who loved you and smiling at their photograph, and it was the difference between color and grayscale. He would have been a shell of himself, forever.

“Akechi?”

Akechi stiffened. He hadn’t heard the door open.

“Hey,” Ren said. “Are you okay?”

Akechi fixed his gaze on the sink, on the reddish iron stain around the drain.

“I apologize,” he said, slipping into the higher register without meaning to. “Did I wake you?”

He felt, rather than saw, Ren go still, and swallowed a bitter rush of shame.

“I’m sorry,” Akechi managed, tightening his grip on the sink until it hurt. “Old habits.”

There was a long pause. Akechi ducked his head further so his neck creaked against the mirror, so he could use the pain to anchor his whirling mind. His fingertips were numb, his throat dry, his tongue too big for his mouth.

He didn’t realize that Ren had moved, much less moved closer, until his voice sounded in his ear: “What’s wrong?”

Nothing, Akechi tried to say, but all that came out was a muted whimper, twisting like a corkscrew in his chest.

Ren laid one hand over Akechi’s white knuckles and the other between his shoulderblades. “Akechi.”

“Don’t call me that,” Akechi snapped, breath hitching. He would not cry. He wouldn’t. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d cried, and this—the morning after he’d brought his husband back to life, when he should be grateful and giddy—would not be one of them. He wouldn’t let it.

Ren paused. “Goro.”

The word speared right through him, taking his breath away. When he inhaled, he keened, reedy and ragged.

“Goro,” Ren repeated softly, nuzzling his throat, his cheek, the tender spot beneath his ear. “Goro, Goro. Goro.”

Goro hadn’t thought anyone would ever say that name again.

His knees buckled. He slumped against the sink, into the sink, bracing his elbows in the damp basin so he could bury his face in his hands. Ren slipped around behind him, locked his arms around his waist, kissed the back of his neck and the knobs of his spine and whispered his name, his name, his name, _Goro Goro Goro_ , invocation, supplication, prayer.

No one talked about how much it _hurt_ to cry, how it raked cold and naked claws along your insides; how your heart fought its way up into your throat and stuck there, pinched and pulsing; how your head filled with poisonous gas at such incredible pressure that your skull was in danger of bursting, of scattering grey matter and bits of bone all across the room. Sobs really did _rack_ you: they stretched your flesh and rent your joints, bruised you in all the places you’d thought it was impossible to bruise.

Akechi had never understood, could not understand, how anyone could find crying cathartic. But sometimes he didn’t have a choice.

Eventually, he calmed down. Ren hummed, his chest vibrating against Akechi’s back, his fingers tracing circles and figure-eights into Akechi’s abdomen. Akechi tried to sniff, went _hnglk_ , gave up. He wouldn’t be able to breathe through his nose for the rest of the day.

He pushed his hands into his hair, pressed his face into his arms. Waited to stop trembling. Waited to stop feeling like he’d turned himself inside out.

“I love you,” Ren said.

That almost set him off again, which was stupid. He knew. He knew Ren loved him. Obviously he loved Ren too, or—

“You’re amazing,” Ren added, wonderingly, skimming his palm up Akechi’s trembling spine. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this. To deserve you.”

“What _you_ did?” Akechi croaked, straightening up, spinning around. But the spark of indignation went out the minute he saw Ren’s expression: eyes widened in genuine surprise, mouth falling slightly open. “What _you_ —after everything you’ve done for—”

Words failed him. They always did. Ren was the one who knew what to say; Ren was the one who could find his voice, always, while Akechi choked on it like so much carrion. He fisted his hands in his hair. “You—I—how can you—”

Ren blinked at him. “Akechi, I never _walked into hell_ for you—”

“What are you talking about?” Akechi demanded. “You saved me from Nyarlathotep. You saved me from—” _From myself. Say it, you imbecile. You saved me from myself._ “Even after everything I did to you, you still—you always—”

Ren’s face softened. He gripped Akechi’s arms, leaned forward, pressed their foreheads together. Akechi squeezed his eyes shut.

“You’re the _only_ one,” he said. “Without you, I...”

“It’s okay.”

“ _It’s not_. It wasn’t. I—I...”

He almost wished he was angry. He almost wished Ren would argue with him, push back, because then Akechi could snap and spit and snarl, break his heart into obsidian fragments and throw them at him. It wouldn’t have been right or good but at least it would have gotten the job done, because he was terrible at this. It was impossible. How could you love someone so much, let them take up so much space in your head and your body, and not know how to tell them? _I love you_ was a farce. It didn’t begin to describe, to explain. Akechi had been bleeding out for days, even after he knew Ren was coming back. He’d been the walking dead, for _days_ , and someday he was going to be the walking dead again.

“I have to go first,” he whispered, turning his face away. “You can’t—I can’t—do that again. Next time, I have to go first.”

Ren made a strained noise, low in his throat, and moved his hands fretfully across Akechi’s body as if to mark and catalogue every inch of him: his arms, his shoulders, his ribs and sternum, his throat and jaw and earlobes. Akechi leaned into him, shaking with the effort of not breaking down, of not letting the tears spill again. He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear it.

“You would have been okay,” Ren said. Akechi shook his head. “I really believe that, Goro. You would’ve been okay.”

“I didn’t _want_ to be,” Goro breathed, barely audible. Ren tucked his hair behind his ears, traced his cheekbones, brushed his eyelashes. “I wanted to die.”

“But you didn’t. And you wouldn’t have.”

“Only for Maya and Sai.”

“Any reason’s a good one,” Ren said firmly. “Goro. As far as I’m concerned, the next time one of us goes, we go together. But I can’t promise—”

Akechi kissed him.

“I know,” he mumbled against his lips. “I know.”

Ren might have whined, he might have sobbed; he clutched Akechi’s collar, dragging him forward. Akechi licked into his mouth, pushed up his shirt to scratch his sides, to dig his nails into the solid muscle at the base of his spine. Ren whined again, urging him on, and Akechi was _really_ wearing too many clothes now, every inch of his body smoldering where it met Ren’s and then some. Akechi bore Ren backward, blindly, scraped their teeth together when Ren hit something solid—the wall, maybe, or the door, it didn’t matter, because Ren was rolling his hips, pushing his leg between Akechi’s thighs, angling upward—

Something in Akechi’s brain, something human among the lizard clamor and animal clangor, flipped a switch. He broke away but didn’t _move_ away, panting into Ren’s mouth, pressing forward to pin him firmly in place. He tipped his chin up to meet Ren’s gaze, dazed and heady.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Joker,” he said, smirking.

Ren stiffened, and for half a second—a quarter of a second—barely a blink, he looked haunted, hunted. Akechi frowned, opened his mouth, but stopped when Ren rested his forehead on his shoulder.

“Who says I can’t?” Ren said huskily.

Akechi relaxed, running his fingers through Ren’s hair. “I do. You haven’t eaten in three days. Did you sleep at all last night?”

“On and off. Fits and starts.”

“There you are, then. I’m not fucking you until you’ve had at least three square meals and a good night’s rest.”

“Killjoy.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“And you’d call me a killjoy.”

“I’d call you a patronizing asshole,” Akechi replied, “and I’d be right.”

Stepping back, Akechi considered them both. They made quite the pair: Akechi rumpled, puffy, and generally damp, and Ren sleep-tousled and kiss-flushed. It would be obvious, to any adult, that they’d been a) crying and b) making out. Did Akechi care? If it were anyone else waiting for them in the kitchen, maybe he would have. But maybe he got a little thrill, curling deliciously in his belly, from showing Ren’s parents the effect he had on their son.

“Come on,” he said. “It’s time for breakfast.”

***

By eleven o’ clock, Ren had successfully:

  * Eaten breakfast
  * Tried to clean breakfast up, and been rebuffed by his parents
  * Seen Maya and Akechi off to therapy
  * Brushed his teeth
  * And showered.



Now he was sitting on the floor in the living room, a plastic parrot in one hand and a stuffed llama in the other, dutifully following Sai’s stage directions as she mapped out an epic tale of betrayal and woe.

“Now I hi’you,” Sai said, lifting a plastic truck into the air. Ren put the llama down, and the truck squashed it. “ _Bwoosh_!”

“Oh no!” Ren cried, in the hoarse, wobbly voice he knew she preferred for this character. “I’ll get you for this!”

“Now you himme back,” Sai instructed.

Ren made the llama leap out from under the truck, spin around, and bop its fender.

“Owowowowwww!” Sai squealed, making the truck reverse. “Ha! Take that!”

The exhaustion hit Ren like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him. The room pitched forward, and him with it, barely catching himself before he hit the floor; he went cold, then hot, sweat prickling his hairline.

“Dad?” Sai gasped.

Ren swallowed the nausea thick in his throat. “I’m sorry, Sai-chan,” he said. “I’m okay.”

Sai peered at him, stricken. “Are you sick?”

“He just needs a nap,” said Morgana, curling himself against her side. “Right, Ren?”

Ren smiled gratefully. “Right. I got sleepy all of a sudden.”

“Ohh,” Sai said, nodding sagely. “Okay. Go sleep.”

Ren started to lever himself to his feet, and jumped when Kai appeared at his side. “Need a hand?” he asked, grasping Ren’s elbow.

“I’ll take over, Sai-chan,” Otome said, plopping down. “What’s the story so far?”

“ _Well_ ,” Sai said. “The llama—”

Ren aimed for the couch and let his father help him onto it. By the time his head hit the pillow, Kai was the only thing holding him up.

“No,” Maya was saying when Ren resurfaced. “Not like that. Like _this_.”

“I apologize,” said Yusuke. “I am wholly unfamiliar with this technique.”

“Then pay attention. Look: this foot should be _here_. And this one here.”

“All right...and then I just—”

“Your feet are wrong again!”

“Lemme try,” Futaba said. “I bet I can do it. Okay... _ha_!”

“Why did you yell like that?”

“It seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Well, it wasn’t. And your feet are wrong, too. You guys are hopeless.”

“Maya,” said Akechi, rising in volume as he came nearer, “you could be a little kinder.”

Maya sputtered. “Well—!”

“No no,” Yusuke said. “I appreciate her honesty. I apologize, sensei, for our inexperience.”

“It’s fine,” said Maya grudgingly. “It takes practice. Here, try again.”

Akechi lightly tapped Ren’s forehead. Ren lifted his head, waited until Akechi had sat down, and then settled back into his lap, all without opening his eyes. Akechi combed his fingers through Ren’s hair.

“Ooh,” Ren muttered, breathing in the bittersweet smell of fresh coffee. “Sojiro’s here too.”

“Yes,” Akechi said. “He’s keeping your parents company in the kitchen.”

Ren listened, caught the edge of a low, urgent conversation. “Haranguing them, you mean,” he said, with a rush of affection.

“Naturally,” said Akechi. “He didn’t get the chance last night.”

“Sai down for her nap?”

“Yes.” There was a pause, presumably while Akechi observed the impromptu aikido lesson playing out in front of them. “There’s a reason Futaba was always navi.”

“Hey!” Futaba snapped. “Watch it, Crow!”

“I am watching. You’re an embarrassment.”

“Now who’s being unkind?” Yusuke said, over Futaba’s outraged squawk.

“I see you grinning over there, Joker!” Futaba said. Ren snickered. “I’ll have my revenge!”

“You’ll have to get significantly better at aikido first,” Akechi said, mostly into his cup.

“Inari! Defend my honor!”

“I don’t—”

“Hey!” Maya barked. “Pay attention!”

“Y’know,” Morgana said from somewhere above them, probably the back of the couch, “now that Maya’s got a Persona, we _could_ —”

“No,” said Ren and Akechi in unison.

Distantly, Ren’s phone buzzed. There was a soft _clack_ as Akechi picked it up.

“Another well-wisher,” he said, setting it on Ren’s chest.

Ren creaked his eyes open and looked. That morning, he’d turned his phone back on to find some 500 messages waiting for him. Most of them were from the various Persona-user groupchats; the remainder were from friends and confidants. Apart from the Persona users and their families, no one knew he’d been dead, but that hadn’t stopped everyone from Chihaya to Mishima from texting him to “check in” and “make sure he was okay.” He’d answered them all, and then gotten sidetracked by, uh, sleeping. He half expected to have 500 more now.

There were 23, which was pretty manageable. The latest was a missive from Hifumi: _I’m thinking about you this morning! How are things?_

 _Pretty good_ , he tapped back. _Feeling under the weather, but otherwise, everything’s fine. How about you?_

No sooner had the message gone out than Ren’s screen lit up with an incoming call. He fumbled, staring at the unfamiliar number. Normally, he would have let it go to voicemail, but something about it, today—

He sat up and answered. “Hello, Ren Akechi speaking.”

“Good afternoon, Akechi-san!” said a bright, tinkling feminine voice. “My name is Miyu Gomi. I’m a representative from the family court. How are you today?”

“I’m well,” Ren said, looking at Akechi, who raised his eyebrows. “How are you, Gomi-san?”

“I’m well! I’m calling to schedule an interview to finalize your adoption of Maya and Saiko. I will visit your home, speak with the girls, speak with you and your husband, and finally make a recommendation to the court. Would that be acceptable?”

“Of course,” Ren said. He found Akechi’s hand and squeezed it hard. Akechi sat up straighter. “Absolutely. When would you like to stop by?”

“Let me see. Would next Wednesday, November 16, at 5:00 be all right?”

“Yes. We’ll all be here.”

“Wonderful. I will see you then. Thank you very much, Akechi-san.”

“And you, Gomi-san. You have our address—?”

“Yes, I do. Have a good day, Akechi-san.”

“You too,” Ren said, but she had already hung up.

“When?” Akechi asked at once, bright and luminous.

“Next Wednesday,” Ren replied. His heart started to pound, a frantic tattoo against his ribs that might have been joy and might have been terror. “Five o’ clock.”

They had a split second to look at each other, mirror images of disbelief and excitement, before everyone else in the room exploded.

“Who was that?” Maya demanded.

“The court rep?” Morgana asked, springing onto Ren’s shoulder. “Was it the court rep?”

“The court rep?” Yusuke said, puzzled.

“For the adoption,” said Futaba, eyes huge. “Was that it?”

“What’s happening?” Kai called from the kitchen table.

“Sounds like they’ve scheduled the final interview,” Sojiro said, stroking his beard. “I remember that. I was pretty nervous...”

“The final interview,” Otome said, clapping her hands to her mouth. “My goodness.”

“Is that true?” Maya asked, elbowing past Futaba and Yusuke, looking from Ren to Akechi and back. She had clenched her fists, but Ren could still see them shaking. “Is it happening?”

Ren’s voice failed him: his heart was too full, crushing his lungs.

“Yes,” Akechi said, astonishingly level, astonishingly calm. Ren loved him _so_ much. “It’s happening. The last hurdle to clear.”

Maya’s lips trembled. She pressed them firmly together. “Good,” she said. “It’s about time.”

***

[CHATLOG. Ren to Aigis, Yu, and Yuki, 11/12/XX, 11:15AM]

_Hey. I know you’re all heading home today, but I wonder if you’ve got a minute to talk?_

_We could all go for a walk, maybe. Or meet at Inokashira Park._

***

They did both. Ren’s fatigue hadn’t totally cleared up, so they didn’t go far; just a ways down the path along the lake. It was brisk, but not cold, enough to warrant a jacket but not a coat, certainly not a scarf. Dried, curled leaves whispered across the asphalt beneath their feet. Most of the trees were skeletal already, the better to let the sun shine on their shoulders.

Ren looked better, too. He was still pale, but not _deathly_ so anymore; the shadows under his eyes had faded to faint smudges. And he looked like himself, acted like himself, more generally. He was mild and relaxed, his hands in his pockets, a small smile on his face.

The four of them—well, three of them, since Makoto never added much to any conversation—kept up small talk as they walked along. Who was still in Tokyo? Who had gone home? Was everyone holding up okay after all the chaos? How were Ren’s parents? Ren had gotten the call, finally, that the court rep was coming? That was great! And so on.

Around a bend in the path, they reached a cluster of trees that hadn’t dropped their foliage yet. They towered, monumental and ancient, their branches tangled together over bare, hard-packed earth, their leaves a flame flickering in the breeze.

“Oh,” Aigis breathed, touching her chest. “How lovely.”

“Let’s stop here,” Makoto said. It was the first thing he’d said all day, apart from _hello_. “Ren. What did you want to talk about?”

Ren hesitated, staring up at the branches. Then he stepped off the path and went to lean against one of the massive trunks, twice as wide as he was.

“I was wondering,” he said, bracing his shoulders, crossing his ankles. His gaze was keen, roving from Yu to Aigis to Makoto and back. “When you all were Leaders...were there any really big choices you had to make? I mean,” he added, correctly interpreting Yu’s frown, “obviously all of us had to make choices every day. I’m talking about the times when you thought, _there’s no going back now_. The decisions that...changed everything. Or could have changed everything.”

Oh.

Yu didn’t like to think about that.

But he thought about it anyway. Ren was the only person he would have done that for. Even Yosuke hadn’t been able to drag it out of him, after all this time; hadn’t found the key to that particular lockbox in Yu’s heart.

For Yu, the critical moment had been that night in December, when the pieces had fallen into place and Yu had thought, _I can’t do this to him_. When he’d wanted to protect Adachi, despite everything.

He hadn’t. He’d told his friends his suspicions, and they’d confronted Adachi, and Adachi had confessed. Technically, Yu hadn’t done anything wrong. But he’d thought about it. The _truth_ was, he’d thought about it, and he’d held out hope right up until their confrontation at the entrance of Magatsu Inaba that Adachi could be convinced to back down. To repent.

He’d never been so wrong about anything in his life, before or since.

“Yes,” Yu said. “There was one.”

Makoto nodded, and Aigis said, “For me, too.”

Ren looked away, across the water. “Do you ever think about what might have happened if you’d gone the other way?”

“I try not to,” Yu said. He had to practically punch the words out of his chest. “It would have been...horrible. I couldn’t have lived with myself.”

Ren’s lips thinned, flattened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. It would have meant—betraying—all of my principles. All of my _friends_. I would have had to step in front of a train.” Yu shook his head, crossed his arms. “I made the right call.”

“I think I chose correctly, also,” Aigis said. “We—the other members of SEES, and I—were given the chance to undo Makoto’s sacrifice. Which would have brought him back, but...for how long? We still couldn’t have defeated Nyx. And to reverse the choice he’d made...that would have been cruel, and wrong. I refused to do it. Some of the others disagreed, but we reached a unanimous decision in the end. I don’t regret it. I don’t wonder about what might have happened.”

“Yuki?” Ren said.

“Ryoji offered to wipe our memories of Nyx,” Makoto said. “We could have died together, blissfully ignorant, or I could have died alone. I decided to die alone. But I know I chose differently in another timeline, because I saw it.”

Ren froze. Yu said, “You _saw_ it?”

Makoto nodded again, shifting his weight. “While I was...wherever I was, when I guarded Nyx, I dreamed. Some of the dreams were real. I saw all of you,” he told Aigis, who inclined her head. “Arguing with each other about what to do. And I saw all of us, waiting to die without knowing it.”

“Does it bother you?” Ren asked. Something in his voice pricked up Yu’s ears. “That you chose differently?”

“ _I_ didn’t,” Makoto replied. “A different Makoto did. And he had his reasons. I can’t judge him.”

“But you were the same person,” Ren insisted, “until you made that choice. Which means you were _capable_ of making that choice. You could have doomed everyone in the world—”

Makoto grimaced, scratched his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Could we—I have a hard time with sideways conversations. If we’re talking about you, could we just...talk about you?”

Ren closed his mouth, sank slowly back against the tree, looked at his shoes. Aigis looked from him to Makoto, the rotors in her neck whirring faintly. Yu kept his eyes on Ren, on the outline of his fists in his pockets.

“Ren?” Yu prompted eventually.

Ren sighed through his nose.

“Maruki,” he said, and paused. “Maruki thought...I thought...we all thought that Akechi died on Shido’s ship. And Maruki looked into my heart and saw that all I wanted was to have him back. So he brought him back.”

Aigis gasped. Makoto was impassive. Yu, who had heard this before, said, “Right.”

“The night before we were supposed to stop him,” Ren continued, “he showed up at Leblanc and offered me...Akechi. He offered to let me keep him—” Ren’s mouth twisted—“as a _pet_ , in exchange for letting him do what he wanted with the rest of the world. I said no. There was never a question. But in the Sea of Souls, I saw...”

“The other timeline,” Makoto said. “The other outcome.”

Yu went cold. Aigis covered her mouth.

Ren said, “Yes.”

“Oh, shit,” Yu said.

Ren shot him a crooked grin. “Exactly.”

“But _you_ didn’t do that,” Yu pointed out. “You chose—”

“I chose,” Ren said, straightening up, “to throw away everyone else’s happiness because _I_ thought it was right. I chose to give them back their heartache and shame—”

“Human souls are defined by struggle,” Aigis said. “A life without it would be hollow.”

“But I didn’t ask them,” Ren countered. He’d drawn up to his full height, tilted both his head and his hips to one side, pinning Aigis in place with his glare. “I didn’t care. I assumed I knew what was best for them.”

“That’s not—” Aigis began.

“ _But even if I hadn’t_ ,” Ren added, “even if I’d taken the offer, I would still have been deciding for everyone. Akechi especially. He didn’t want to live in Maruki’s world, even if it meant being dead in the real one.” He coughed a laugh; he couldn’t seem to help it. Makoto made a sound that echoed the dull pang in Yu’s own chest. “Talk about betraying your principles; talk about being cruel; I—”

“ _You_ ,” Yu said, “didn’t.”

“ _I did_. Some version of me did, somewhere, which means I could have done it all along. I could have lobotomized him.” Ren spun suddenly sideways, swift and jerky as a tangled marionette. “I could have erased everything about him that I loved, just so I wouldn’t have to be sad that he was dead.”

“Ren,” Aigis whispered.

Yu’s throat was tight. “You could have _back then_ ,” he said, a little desperately. “You’re not that person now.”

Ren laughed again. “I’m not so sure.”

“I am. Look, we—have you ever thought about how young we all were when these things happened? Sixteen is nothing. Sixteen year olds are _babies_. And we were making choices about life and death and right and wrong—no one should have put that on us. On you.” Ren was shaking his head, but Yu barreled on anyway. “You were a kid. You were grieving. You were probably, let’s be honest, under some kind of creepy tentacle influence—”

“No,” Ren said. “There was no magic involved. I chose.”

“Still.”

“You can’t make this not my fault, Yu.”

“It’s _not_ your fault!” Yu exclaimed, flinging his arms out. “You didn’t do anything!”

“Did Akechi get you that referral?” Makoto asked.

Yu let his arms drop. Aigis didn’t need to breathe, but she was holding her breath.

Ren hunched his shoulders. “Yes. His therapist, Chuichi, recommended someone.”

“Have you made an appointment?”

“No. Not yet.”

“You should.”

Closing his eyes, Ren exhaled long and deep. “I know. I know.”

“Does Akechi know about this?” Aigis asked.

“No. And none of you can tell him.”

Yu tensed. Aigis said, “It would be wrong for us to lie to him.”

“I’m not asking you to lie.”

“A lie by omission is still a lie.”

“You should tell him,” Yu said.

Ren rubbed his face. “I don’t want him to know. I don’t want him to—think less of me.”

“He won’t,” Yu said at once. “He loves you.”

Ren dragged his fingers through his hair, gripped the back of his neck. “I—”

Something in Aigis’s torso went _bing_!

“I’m sorry,” Aigis said. “That was my alarm. Our train leaves in an hour.”

“I can stay,” Yu said. “The others will wait.”

Ren breathed out again, and Yu watched the stark, harsh lines of his body melt into soft, indistinct ones. “No, that’s okay. I’ve got this. I appreciate you all talking it through with me.”

The other three Wild Cards exchanged a look, Yu grim, Makoto inscrutable, and Aigis worried.

“Any time,” Yu said at last. He jerked his head toward the path. “Let’s head back.”

***

[CHATLOG. Yu to Aigis, Ren, and Makoto, 11/14/20XX, 7:12AM]

 **Yu** And how are we this fine morning?

 **Aigis** I’m well.

 **Makoto** good

 **Ren** Good. Excited to head back to work?

 **Yu** Yeah, for sure  
**Yu** It’ll be barely controlled chaos after the sub, but it’ll still be fun

 **Aigis** Best of luck getting everything back under control.

 **Yu** Psh, I don’t need luck  
**Yu** I have skills  
**Yu** How’s everything by you, Ren?

 **Ren** Everything’s fine.  
**Ren** Maya’s going back to school this morning, too. She’s nervous, but it’ll be good.

 **Aigis** Good luck to her too, then!

 **Makoto** are your parents still there

 **Ren** Yes.

 **Makoto** how’s that been

 **Ren** A little weird, but okay.  
**Ren** They’re trying really hard.

 **Makoto** that’s good

 **Ren** Yeah, it is.

 **Yu** Did I tell you they apologized to Yosuke and me?  
**Yu** After you went to bed, that first night you were back  
**Yu** They said they were sorry that they’d listened to gossip about us, and that they’d told you not to be friends with us anymore  
**Yu** It was nice to hear, honestly.

 **Ren** You didn’t mention that, no. And they didn’t say anything to me.

 **Aigis** How much longer are they staying with you?

 **Ren** At least until Wednesday.  
**Ren** After that, I don’t know.  
**Ren** They have to go home sometime.

 **Yu** Do you want them to?

 **Ren** I don’t know.

 **Makoto** you don’t have to be mad at them forever

 **Ren** I’m not mad.  
**Ren** I don’t think I am, anyway.

 **Makoto** did you call that therapist yet

 **Ren** No.

 **Makoto** why not

 **Ren** I haven’t had time.

 **Yu** What else have you got to do?

 **Yu** Ren?

 **Ren** Sorry, dad duty calls.  
**Ren** I’ll talk to you all later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (he will not)


	18. High Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qm8QuYLhac)
> 
> [_And even at your worst, babe_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qm8QuYLhac)
> 
> [
> 
> _You were never bad as this_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2qm8QuYLhac)

Ren was blueballing him. That was the best way Akechi could think to describe what was happening.

It was the first time they’d put Maya and Sai to bed in their own rooms since Kubo had upended their lives. Morgana had agreed to split the night between the two girls, and Kai and Otome were sleeping in the living room as usual; so Ren and Akechi finally had their bed to themselves.

Akechi hadn’t planned to take advantage of that, but he’d barely sat down before Ren was in his lap, Ren's fingers clutching his jaw, Ren's mouth on his. And Akechi had enjoyed it for all of ten minutes, chasing the pleased little noises Ren made when he put his teeth _there_ and his nails _here_ , savoring the shuddering heat of his skin and the wet slide of his tongue—

—until he realized that, for all that Ren was making the right sounds and going through the right motions, he wasn’t hard. He wasn’t even _close_. And it wasn’t the first time, either. Ren kept finding reasons to corner Akechi and kiss him like it was going somewhere, and then beg off once Akechi realized he wasn’t actually interested. Which would have been fine, if Ren had ever actually _admitted_ he wasn’t interested. Instead he always blamed the fatigue, which, more than a week later, wasn’t nearly as much of an issue. He refused to discuss any other possible reason for his…whatever it was. It wasn’t that he wasn’t attracted to Akechi, because he kept trying. It was that he got distracted or lost his nerve or—something. And he wouldn’t explain the something.

Which was why, this time, Akechi sighed against his mouth and pushed him back. “All right, enough. Get off.”

Ren blinked at him, his lips red and swollen, his shirt mussed. Akechi’s dick throbbed at the sight, which only made him angrier. “Huh?”

“I said,” Akechi snapped, bucking his hips, “ _off_. I don’t know why you keep doing this to me.”

“Doing—”

Akechi clambered out from under him, hissing at the rough slide of fabric against his crotch. “Don’t say _doing what_. You know what. Starting things you can’t finish.” Ren flinched, and Akechi pointed at him. “And then doing _that_ when I call you on it! We don’t have to have sex if you’re not ready to. But stop—slobbering all over me.”

“I am ready to,” Ren said, and sagged. “At least, I always think I am.”

“Well, you aren’t,” Akechi grumbled. “Which, again, is fine, but it keeps happening. And you won’t tell me why.”

“You know why. I’m just—”

“It’s got nothing to do with being tired. Not anymore.” Akechi leaned against the headboard, crossed his arms, glared at Ren. “Why haven’t you called that therapist yet?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Ren scrubbed his palms across his face. “I don’t—”

“Yes you do.”

“Why do you keep asking me questions if you don’t want me to answer?”

“I want you to tell me the truth,” Akechi retorted. “I want you to stop lying to me. The entire time you’ve been back, you—”

Ren bristled and lowered his hands. “That’s not true.”

“ _Yes it is_. Why do you keep getting me worked up and then losing your nerve?”

“I’m tired.”

Akechi barked a laugh. God, he’d forgotten how good of a liar Ren was. Ren hadn’t used that particular skill for evil—or rather, against Akechi—in so long that Akechi was out of practice. But now he could see the tells: the smooth line of Ren’s mouth, the hair across his eyes, the subtly coiled springs in his shoulders. If he still wore glasses, he would have tilted his head just so, and the glare would have hidden his eyes completely.

“Bullshit,” Akechi said. “Why do I keep catching you staring at me like I’m the one who died?”

Ren’s chin tipped up a fraction as he inhaled: a minor concession to surprise. He hadn’t noticed Akechi noticing.

“I don’t,” he said, but there was an edge to his voice now.

“Why do you twitch every time I call you Joker?”

True to form, he twitched, and scowled. “That should be obvious. Kubo’s Persona.”

Akechi narrowed his eyes. “That’s _one_ reason. It’s not _the_ reason.”

Ren looked away. “Akechi—”

“Why,” Akechi said, leaning forward, bracing his hands on his knees. “Won’t. You. Talk. To me.”

“I talk to you. We’re talking.”

“You’re _lying_ ,” Akechi said, and when Ren bristled again he added viciously, “Don’t deny it! I can tell! Something’s wrong and you won’t tell me what it is.”

He watched Ren’s jaw clench, relax, clench again. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“You really have no idea, do you, how transparent you are. I can see right through you; I know—”

“Then why don’t you tell me what it is?” Ren demanded, with a ferocity that curdled Akechi’s indignation into resentment. “Since you know so much, since you can read me so well—”

Akechi sneered. “I’m sure I don’t know. Except, perhaps, being _tortured to death_ —”

“And why would that stop me from getting it up?”

“Trauma’s never affected your sex drive? Lucky you.”

“Please. Your sex drive was perfectly fine.”

Oh, this was an ugly place to go, but they were already there.

“Is it _personal_ , then? A shift in preference? Is this—” Akechi gestured to himself, up and down—“not what you want, now that you’ve been to the other side? Did they rip it out of you?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ren replied irritably. “Of course not.”

“Is it a question of pity? You’ve finally realized how horrible being with me is, but you’d feel too guilty if you broke it off?”

Akechi wasn’t sure who he was trying to hurt anymore, whose heart he was trying to gouge out. He hadn’t felt like this in years. They hadn’t fought like this in years.

Ren’s face was flat, furious. “It’s got nothing to do with you.”

“Really? My mistake. I must have been confused. Then again, you do keep climbing on top of me and then squirming away at the first opportunity—”

“It’s got nothing to do with _that_.”

“But you admit that there’s an _it_. There’s something you’re hiding from me. Why? What did I do to lose your trust?”

“Nothing,” Ren said. “You didn’t do anything.”

“Damn right I didn’t,” Akechi said. He was trembling, but his voice was level; his stomach was roiling, but his gaze was steady. “All I did was risk my life to get you out of that godforsaken place. All I did was give up Robin Hood, and Loki, and Hereward, and it doesn’t matter that I got them back because it _still hurt_.” All the fight went out of Ren, all at once, but all Akechi saw was an opening, a bared belly. “All I did was mourn you and tear myself apart trying to find you and now I have you and you’re _not even here_. Is that what it is? You asked me to leave you there and I brought you back and now you hate me for it?”

“No,” Ren breathed, stricken. “No, no, Akechi, no.”

“Then,” Akechi said, voice catching, catapulting up into a scream: “ _what is it_?”

Ren looked at him, through him, past him. He seemed very far away. Desolate.

“I can’t,” he said finally. “Tell you.”

Akechi peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Why not?”

Ren sat there for so long, staring over Akechi’s shoulder, that Akechi actually looked around, half-expecting to see someone standing behind him. No one was there.

“Fine,” Akechi muttered, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

Ren blinked back to himself. “Akechi—”

“If you won’t tell me,” he said, standing up, “tell _someone_. I’m tired of worrying about it.”

He walked away, into the bathroom, slammed the door. His throat was hot and tight. He ran the faucet cold, splashed his face, buried it in a towel to muffle the howl that ripped its way out of his chest. Then, sniffing hard, he balled the towel up and threw it in the hamper with unnecessary force.

By the time he came back out, Ren was pretending to be asleep.

***

Akechi hadn’t fallen asleep angry in a long time, but he hadn’t lost the ability. He slept, and when he woke up, lying on his side, the sliver of light peeking between the curtains was grey.

He lay there for a while, taking stock. It was either early enough in the morning that Sai was still sleeping, or she’d gotten up and gone to her grandparents first. Akechi wasn’t sure how he felt about that. At least neither of the girls had, apparently, had nightmares; or they’d soothed themselves back to sleep afterward.

Behind him, Ren was awake. Akechi could tell by the pattern of his breathing.

“Hey,” Ren said quietly.

Akechi considered ignoring him, but decided that would be a bridge too far. Rolling onto his back, he turned his head to study Ren’s wan, pinched face.

“I’m sorry about last night,” Ren said, low and hoarse. “I’m sorry I got so nasty.”

“Me too,” Akechi murmured. “I wasn’t being fair.”

Ren’s gaze slid away from him. “Yes, you were,” he said. “Look, I know I—I know I haven’t been—I know I’ve been distracted. I know I have to talk to someone. But I’m not ready.”

Akechi ghosted his knuckles across Ren’s cheek. “You could talk to me.”

Ren pursed his lips, shook his head. “You wouldn’t like it.”

Akechi’s eyebrows knitted. Of the two of them, Ren was usually the subtext expert, but this time Akechi heard it loud and clear: _You wouldn’t like_ me. “Ren. What could possibly be so bad that—”

“I don’t know if it would be that bad, but I’m not ready to risk it. Not yet. Not when we just—” Ren broke off, pushing his face into the pillow.

Shifting onto his side, Akechi rested his palm on Ren’s neck, his thumb on his pulse point. “There’s nothing you could do to make me hate you.”

He heard a dry click as Ren swallowed.

“Let’s just get through today,” Ren said. “Then we can talk about what’s next.”

***

 _Today_ was, of course, the day of their final interview. Even Sai was quiet and withdrawn at breakfast, pushing her food around her bowl until Akechi took her chopsticks and started hand-feeding her. Maya was practically vibrating out of her seat, grinding her teeth so hard that Akechi could hear them squeaking.

“Are you sure you want to go to school today?” Ren asked her after she fumbled her chopsticks for the fourth time. “Do you think you’ll be able to focus?”

“I have to go,” she replied, not a snap but right on the edge. “I’m barely caught up as it is.”

“Your butt might be in the seat,” said Kai, “but if your brain’s still here, it won’t do you any good.”

Ren shot his father a look. “He’s right,” he said, with obvious reluctance. “If you can’t—”

“I need to _not be here_ ,” Maya said. Her chopsticks rattled in her grip. She put them down, pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. “I can’t sit here all day and wait.”

“I’m sure we could find some way to distract you,” Otome said. “We could—”

“I know!” Morgana said, appearing on the table. “I’ll go with you!”

Ren brightened; Akechi, Maya, and Kai said, “What?” flat, baffled, and shocked, respectively.

“Yeah!” Morgana piped, eyes gleaming. “I used to go to school every day with Ren! I hid in his desk. Nobody ever caught us!”

Maya goggled at him, at Ren. “Wh—but—”

“But,” said Kai, “you’re a cat.”

Morgana spun around, lashing his tail. “I am not a cat!”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Ren said.

“It would definitely give you something else to think about,” Akechi said, grudgingly. “I still can’t believe Ren got away with it for so long.”

“I,” Maya sputtered. “But...”

“Don’t worry,” Morgana said, grinning. “You’ll barely know I’m there.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Akechi saw Ren’s parents exchange a look, and saw Ren notice it and frown. But nobody said anything, so Maya, successfully sidetracked, took Morgana to school. Otome and Kai politely, and pointedly, did not voice their concerns while they cleaned up breakfast; while Ren scrubbed the bathroom; while Akechi and Sai reviewed her phonics flashcards. But the possibility hung in the air, a shoe waiting to drop.

Around ten o’ clock, when Sai rubbed her eyes for the third time, Akechi hoisted himself off the floor. “Naptime,” he said. “Let’s go choose a book.”

“Kay,” she mumbled.

In her bedroom, Akechi steered her around to the bookcase. “So,” he said. “What shall we read today?”

“Hmm,” Sai said, tilting her head, putting her hand to her chin in a pose that was unmistakably and undeniably his own.

It was strange, seeing himself in his daughters. Not bad, which was a relief. Before, Akechi had loathed being reflected in the funhouse mirrors of other people. He’d spent many years being mimicked by fans and hangers-on, but they’d been mimicking the Detective Prince: cocking their heads like delicate birds, chuckling like the tinkling of bells, all without realizing they were offering a pale imitation of a pale imitation. Paper dolls all the way down.

But Maya and Sai were different. When they adopted one of Akechi’s mannerisms, it seemed like something they couldn’t help doing. Like something natural. Inevitable. He…liked it. He really liked it.

“This one,” Sai declared, holding up a board book about a purple train learning to love his bright, flamboyant colors.

“Excellent choice.”

Akechi settled onto the ground, propped against the wall, and let her climb into his lap. She was asleep before the train had even realized he was different, but Akechi finished the book anyway, taking his time, lingering over the illustrations, just so he could savor the soft curl of her body cradled against his.

He didn’t realize the shoe had dropped until he closed Sai’s door behind him.

“It’s funny,” Ren was saying, clipped, curt. “I don’t remember asking for your input.”

“It’s not a criticism,” Otome said.

“No?”

“No. We just—”

“You just want to make sure I’m not setting a bad example for my daughter.”

Akechi sauntered down the hall to the living room doorway, where he took in the scene. Ren stood to one side, against the wall, arms folded and ankles crossed. Otome sat on the edge of the couch, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees; Kai perched on the end table beside her, hands clasped, frowning.

“We never said that,” Kai countered.

“And we wouldn’t say that, because you’re not,” Otome said. “But as her parent, you have to—”

“I know exactly what I have to do, thank you.”

“Please try not to take this personally.”

“Take what personally? You, _of all people_ , telling me how to raise my kids? Where were all these hot tips a month ago? Six months ago?”

“Not everything has to be about the past,” Kai said, with a long-suffering grimace. “We’re trying to make amends; we’re trying to move forward.”

“By giving me unsolicited advice. By judging my decision to send my child to school with her _magical talking cat_.”

Otome held up her hands: white flag, truce, surrender. “Okay. You’re right. It’s your call and it’s not our place to judge.”

Kai made a face, and Ren straightened up, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Something on your mind, Pop?”

Otome gave her husband a warning look, but he ignored it. “I suppose,” he said carefully, “I’m wondering how much longer we’re going to have to grovel.”

“Kai,” Otome hissed.

Ren smiled like he’d seen an especially dangerous Shadow. “Grovel?”

“Yes,” Kai said, lifting his chin. “I know we were wrong. We’ve admitted that repeatedly. We’ve apologized, repeatedly. But we also had our reasons—”

“Shitty reasons.”

“Don’t curse.”

“Don’t tell me what to do in my own house.”

Kai opened his mouth to argue, thought better of it. “We were worried about you. Things were different then. People were less accepting; the world was more dangerous—”

“Oh believe me,” Ren said, laughing darkly, “I know.”

“I don’t see why we can’t agree to—”

“Agree to _what_?” Ren snarled, stepping forward, incandescent with rage. “Forgive and forget? Let bygones be bygones? You think one week of making me breakfast makes up for twelve _years_ of bullshit?”

“No,” said Otome firmly. “We don’t. Of course we don’t.”

“We don’t,” Kai confirmed. “I don’t expect everything to be hunky-dory. But you could try to meet us halfway.”

As much as Akechi wanted to watch Ren tear out these people’s assholes, this wasn’t his show to enjoy. He turned away, started—

“Where are you going?” Ren demanded.

Akechi paused, raised his eyebrows. “I was going to give you some privacy.”

“Why? You live here. You don’t have to hide from _them_.”

He was radiant. It hurt to look at him, straight spine and blazing eyes and tight jaw. Any semblance of self-control he had was gone. Akechi knew better than to try and get it back.

“All right,” Akechi said, leaning against the doorframe.

“What your father is saying,” Otome began, but Ren rounded on her, practically baring his teeth.

“I know what he’s saying,” he spat. “It’s hard to be in the doghouse, huh? Boo fucking hoo. I didn’t ask you to come here. I don’t want you here. Looking at you makes me sick.”

Otome shut her eyes. Kai flinched. “You don’t mean that.”

“How the _fuck_ would you know what I mean?” Ren exploded, throwing out his arms. “You don’t know me! You haven’t known me for years! You haven’t _cared_ to. Do you know how hard I’ve worked, how much time I’ve spent, training myself not to think about you? Every time something important happened to me, to _us_ —” He gestured wildly at Akechi, who looked away—“I had to _stop myself_ from calling you because I knew you wouldn’t give a shit.”

Kai’s jaw dropped. Otome lifted her head. “That’s not true,” she whispered, pleading. “We did care; we—”

“Hey guys, Akechi and I found a new apartment! That’s nice honey, but are you sure you still need a _roommate_?” He said it like a slur. “Great news! Ryuji and Ann had a baby! Oh how wonderful, when are you going to knock up a nice girl and settle down? Akechi and I are getting married! Neato! Hey, don’t ever come back to Inaba, or if you do, don’t bring him, because we can’t stand to be seen with the two of you—”

“Ren,” Kai said. All the color had left his face. “That’s not—”

“Akechi and I want kids,” Ren continued, savagely. “Akechi and I are going to adopt. Akechi and I submitted our application. Akechi and I got the call today that they’ve matched us. How dare you, _how dare you_ sit there and tell me how to be a good parent, when you haven’t parented me since I was seventeen?”

Otome put her head in her hands. Kai caught his breath.

“We’re sorry,” he croaked, and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“You think that’s all it takes?” Ren hissed. “I trusted you! I _loved_ you. I had to _make myself stop_. And you think you can show up now, after all this time, and pass judgement on my life and my choices? You think you can just apologize and it’ll all go away, clean slate?”

“No,” Otome mumbled. Akechi was pretty sure she was crying. “Of course not.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” Ren crossed his arms, planted his feet. “I think you’d better go.”

Otome was _definitely_ crying. Kai deflated. “Ren—”

“Don’t _Ren_ me. You have no right.” Ren was trembling so badly that Akechi could hear his teeth chattering. “Go home.”

Otome hiccupped, and said, “Right now?”

“No,” Akechi said. Ren whirled around. “After Maya gets back from school.”

“Why?” Ren countered. “Why wait? It’s not like she trusts them; she knows they—”

Akechi cut him a steely glance. “I’m not sure,” he said, delicately, “that we need to prove her right on that front.”

He watched Ren scowl, bite his tongue, back down.

“Fine,” Ren said, turning his glare back on his parents. “Later. But if you tell her about this—”

“We won’t,” Kai said. “We would never.”

Ren snorted. “Yeah, well,” he muttered. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Brushing past Akechi, he stalked down the hallway, through the back door, closed it behind him with deliberate care.

Akechi stayed where he was, staring into space. Once Otome had calmed from sobs to sniffles, he cleared his throat.

“Well, that was overdue,” he said. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“No,” Kai said, rubbing his wife’s back. “I…think he covered it.”

“I’m afraid we ruined everything,” Otome whispered. Her face crumpled, cleared; she let out a shaky sigh. “And you’re the last person I should be saying that to.”

Akechi shrugged one shoulder. “I’m not sure what there was to ruin,” he said, “if it can’t be fixed. But it’s Ren’s choice to make, not mine. You’re going to have to wait for him to make it. Excuse me.”

And he went to check on his husband.

***

By the time Maya got home, Kai and Otome were packed and ready. They’d driven to Tokyo, so there was no accounting for train schedules; they could leave whenever they wanted. Whenever Ren let them. He’d spent the rest of the day not quite ignoring them: he answered if they talked to him, and nodded politely whenever they crossed paths, but they didn’t say much and he didn’t push. Mostly he focused on getting the house ready for the court rep: scrubbing all the things he didn’t normally scrub, enlisting Akechi to help him when Sai was sleeping and keep her occupied when she was awake.

And now, at three o’ clock, Maya walked in the door, unslung her bag, and opened it. Morgana sprang out, looking smug.

“He’s heavy,” Maya complained. “You didn’t tell me he was heavy.”

“Sorry,” Ren said, grinning. “I forgot. How’d it go?”

“Great!” Morgana said, dancing from one paw to the other. “Nobody had a clue!”

“I did,” Maya grumbled. “He kept talking.”

“Showering you with praise?” Akechi asked, as Sai threw her arms around the cat.

Maya blushed. “No.”

“ _Gah_ —not so tight, Sai!—she’s really smart, you know,” Morgana said, twisting into a more comfortable position in Sai’s arms. “She gets called on a lot and she always gets the questions right!”

Maya’s cheeks darkened to something approaching tomato. Ren squeezed her shoulder. “Sounds like a pretty good day.”

“Yeah, I guess,” she said, ducking her head. “It was nice.”

Then she saw the bags by the door, and a shutter slammed shut behind her expression. Slowly, she turned toward her grandparents, standing in the doorway to the living room.

“You’re leaving?” she said.

“Yes,” Otome said. “It’s time.”

Maya glanced at Ren, who was taken aback by the naked suspicion on her face.

“They have lives too, Maya,” he said. “They need to get back to them.”

Sai, sensing the tension, released Morgana and pressed herself against Akechi’s leg. He rested his hand on her head.

“Are we ever going to see them again?” Maya asked.

Everyone in the room looked at Ren, who blinked. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know,” Maya replied, which was basically a yes. “Sai likes them,” she added, which was unequivocally a yes.

Ren didn’t hesitate. He wanted to. But he didn’t.

“Then yes,” he said. “You will.” Turned to them, raised his eyebrows. “You’ll host, next time?”

Otome lit up, her smile wide and blinding, and now Ren knew what Akechi meant when he said Ren was hard to look at. Kai flapped his jaw, found his voice, said, “Yes! Yes. You can stay with us?” he asked Ren’s mother, who nodded eagerly. “During Maya’s winter break?”

Ren glanced at Akechi, who nodded. “Sure. I’ll call you on Sunday to figure out dates.” He tilted his head toward Maya. “Good enough?”

“Good enough,” she said, hoisting her bag over her shoulder. “See you then,” she told her grandparents, and marched off to her room.

“Do I have to go?” Morgana whispered to Akechi. He shook his head.

“Bye for now, Sai-chan,” Otome said, crouching down in front of the toddler. “We’ll see you soon, okay? You’ll come visit us in Inaba.”

“Ina-ba,” Sai murmured.

“That’s right. We’ll have a great time. And you’ll get to see Yu and Yosuke. Would you like that?”

Sai brightened, nodded. Otome gently cupped her cheek, and Ren was physically transported back to being comforted like that: when he’d scared himself falling out of a tree; when he’d hovered nervously on the porch on his first day of school; when she’d come to pick him up from the birthday party he’d only been invited to out of pity. Back to looking up into her smiling face, into Kai’s smiling face, and knowing he was _safe_.

He wanted desperately to feel that way again.

“We’ll see you soon, Akechi,” Kai said, as Otome stood up. “Take care of yourself.”

“Same to you,” Akechi replied, the picture of polite.

They both turned to Ren, who grabbed a handful of their bags.

“I’ll help you load the car,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IchijikuMonster made a spotify playlist of all the songs I’ve linked to throughout this series! It’s [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2diEOKArO7vyRcpiAYQ20j)
> 
> I can’t believe I wrote 160,000+ words just to share all my favorite music with everybody


	19. Two Tongues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U926qEt2zwA)
> 
> [_I can’t believe you’re still talking_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U926qEt2zwA)
> 
> [
> 
> _With two tongues in your mouth_
> 
> _After all we’ve been around_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U926qEt2zwA)

“Okay,” Ren said. “Everybody ready?”

They were sitting around the chabudai in a last-minute—call it what it was—war council. Gomi-san would be there in five minutes, and everything was as ready as it was possible to be. The house was cleaner than ever. Ren and Akechi were both freshly showered and sharply dressed, Akechi in a red button-up shirt and black slacks and Ren in a navy blazer over a white shirt and dark-wash jeans. Ren had trimmed Maya’s hair and thought about combing Sai’s, but decided against it: it had a similar texture to his, and his hair liked to eat combs. Morgana was freshly brushed, his nails neatly clipped, and stationed on top of the cat tower, the picture of fat, happy feline.

“My room’s clean,” Maya said, ticking on her fingers. “My report card’s on my desk, easy to see. Books arranged in order of difficulty.” She’d be a Phantom Thief yet. “I’m wearing the dress.”

“It looks nice on you,” Akechi said, and he was right. It was royal blue, knee-length in the hem and elbow-length in the sleeve, and it accented the blue undertones in her eyes. But she glared at him like he’d insulted her.

“Thanks,” she said, going slightly pink.

“Is it gonna be okay?” Sai asked in a tiny voice.

They all looked at her. She wasn’t dressed as formally as the rest of them, but Ren had clipped her hair back from her face with a silver barrette. Now she fiddled with it, staring at her lap, looking as small and uncertain as the day Ren and Akechi had met her.

Ren opened his mouth to answer, but Maya beat him to it. “Yeah,” she said, reaching over to tug Sai’s hand away from her hair. She gripped it hard, squeezing until Sai met her gaze. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

Ren glanced at Akechi, saw his own fond smile reflected on Akechi's face. Whatever else they’d gone through, however this day turned out, at least they had this.

He knew he shouldn’t be nervous. They were, by any metric, more than capable of giving Maya and Sai a bright future. He liked to think they were decent parents; certainly the girls didn’t seem to have any major complaints. If Gomi found a reason to deny their application today, she wouldn’t find a reason to take Maya and Sai away from them. They’d just have to try again, however much the idea made his stomach squirm.

When the doorbell rang, everyone jumped. Sai blanched and shrank back against the couch.

“Come on, Sai-chan,” Ren whispered, taking her other hand. With Maya’s help, he lifted her to her feet. “Let’s go meet Gomi-san.”

Akechi opened the door to reveal an extraordinarily tall woman: taller even than Ren, helped by the spiky black heels peeking out from underneath flared gray dress pants. Over one shoulder was a handsome brown bag with a buttery sheen that Haru would have identified as _quality_ , and Ryuji as _expensive_ ; tucked into the crook of her other arm was a clipboard. Her black hair was loose around her shoulders, brushing a high-collared blouse and a crisply pressed gray suitcoat. When she smiled, the corners of her dark eyes wrinkled.

“Good afternoon,” she said in a high, merry voice that immediately put Ren on edge.

She was _too_ nice, clearly compensating for something, or trying to throw them off. Underneath all that sweetness and light was a band of pure steel; not evil, not mean, but not easy to sway, either. Which was, he supposed, a good quality in a job like this. More than anything, she reminded him of Sae Niijima.

“I’m Miyu Gomi,” she continued. “I’m with the Family Court.”

“Yes,” said Akechi, bowing. “We’ve been expecting you. I’m Akechi-san, and this is my husband, Ren-san.”

Gomi nodded at Ren, who bowed too.

“Please,” Akechi added, “come in.”

She came in. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I keep my shoes on,” she said. “The heels…”

“Sure,” Ren said. “No worries. Maya, Sai-chan, this is Gomi-san. Say hello.”

“Hi,” Maya said. Ren was surprised to see that she’d gone—not soft, but milder than usual. It was probably a good idea, considering that she’d had a reputation for being aggressive at the institution. “I’m Maya. This is my sister, Sai.”

Gomi smiled at the girls. “It’s very nice to meet you both. That’s a lovely dress, Maya.”

Maya glanced down at it, absently brushed away a cat hair. “Thank you. It’s new.”

“Do you have a lot of new dresses?”

“Some. Do you want to see them?”

“Why yes, I’d like that.”

“Okay. My bedroom’s this way.”

Oh, but she was good. She led the way down the hall, chattering the whole time: about school, and how much she liked her teachers; about the friends she’d made; about how much she enjoyed aikido, and how her dogi was the best thing she’d gotten since she’d moved in with Ren and Akechi. Gomi walked along beside her, listening intently, nodding; Ren and Akechi brought up the rear, Ren bending to pick Sai up when it became clear that she was too anxious to walk.

“This is my room,” Maya said, stepping into it and immediately opening the closet. “See? It’s not all dresses. I actually don’t like them that much. But some of them, I do.”

“Very nice,” Gomi murmured, writing something on her clipboard. “Your room is very clean. Oh! Do you like to read?”

“Yeah,” Maya said, padding over to the bookshelf. “I read with my papa—with Akechi a lot.” Ren felt a rush of pride. She was _so good_. “We like to read books together, switching off reading the chapters out loud.”

“Hm!” Gomi said, smiling faintly, scribbling something else. “That sounds lovely.”

“Yeah. It’s fun. And when it's not cold like this, we plant things together in the backyard. Flowers and stuff. We have to take the next couple months off, but then in March we’ll start again.”

“It sounds like you have a lot of responsibilities.”

“Well, I have to do my homework and everything,” Maya said, shrugging. “And I help cook. Ren’s taught me how to make tons of stuff. We cook breakfast and dinner together every day.”

Gomi gave Ren an appraising look. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. I used to cook when I lived with my mom, but only like, ramen. Now I know how to make curry, and eggs, and rice…I never do anything on the stove, though. Ren won’t let me.”

Gomi nodded as she wrote. “That seems sensible. You are, after all, only ten.”

“I’ll be eleven in a couple months,” Maya said, with a flash of her usual spunk.

Gomi smiled again. “Ah! That’s right. And Sai will be three soon.”

“Yup.”

“Sai used to be very shy. Do you think she still is?”

Maya studied her sister, who was clinging to Ren so tightly that he could feel her small, blunt nails through the fabric of his shirt. “No,” she said. “Not once she gets to know people. Ren and Akechi have lots of friends. We hang out with the Takamakis all the time, and Sai loves them. She plays with their kids.”

“Do you play, too?”

“Yeah, but they’re really young, so it’s not as fun. Mostly I make sure they don’t get into trouble.”

“How thoughtful.”

Maya shrugged. “It’s just the right thing to do.”

“I quite agree. May I see Sai’s room now?”

After that, she switched her focus to Ren and Akechi, and her questions turned pointed. Could they describe a typical day in the girls’ lives? How were Sai’s language skills progressing? Was she still seeing the speech-language pathologist? Was Maya still going to a therapist? (Yes, Maya chimed in; Hinata-chan, who was great.) What sorts of foods did they typically serve for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Did the children get along with the cat? When were they planning to go back to work, and who would watch Sai then? And so on. All the while, she traversed the house, studying each room. She didn’t have to lift rugs or peer under tables; she could see all the details she needed to at a glance, and she kept making marks on her clipboard. Marks upon marks upon marks.

Akechi and Ren traded off answering, the way they’d always traded off in the Metaverse. It didn’t feel like a battle, exactly; not a physical battle, at least. Not even really a battle of wills. There was no trickery here, no deception. They were, in fact, as honest with this total stranger as if they’d known her forever, or at least as long as they’d been willing to talk about their own private lives.

“Well,” Gomi said, after what felt like hours but had only been thirty minutes, “it seems to me you have a wonderful home and a stable life. It’s plain that Maya and Sai are happy and well cared for.”

Ren’s heart swelled. Akechi took his hand, and said, “We’ve done our best.”

“I can tell.” Gomi turned to Maya. “Maya, I wonder if you might take Sai into your room and entertain her for a little while? I have some final questions that I’d like to ask Ren-san and Akechi-san in private.”

Maya blinked. She hadn’t expected this, and honestly neither had Ren. “Oh. Uh, okay.”

“It’ll be okay,” Ren assured her, setting Sai down. “Here, Sai. Go with Maya. Why don’t you take Morgana with you, too?”

On cue, Morgana stretched, yawned, and leapt to the floor. Taking Sai’s hand, Maya led her away with the cat on their heels.

Gomi motioned for Akechi and Ren to sit at the chabudai, and folded herself neatly onto one of the zabuton. “I meant what I said,” she informed them, setting down her clipboard. The veneer of kindness was just that, now: a veneer, a thin film of cloud obscuring a fighter jet. “You’ve clearly done right by these girls. I have no doubt you would continue to.”

“Thank you,” Ren said.

“But?” Akechi prompted quietly.

Gomi grimaced. “But,” she said, opening her bag, pulling out a sheaf of paper, “in the course of reviewing your information, I stumbled upon a discrepancy in your application. I need to address it before I can approve the adoption.”

Ren forced himself to stay loose, relaxed, calm. Akechi said, “A discrepancy?”

“Yes.” She put on a pair of glasses. “On your initial application, you were asked if you’ve ever been convicted of a crime of any sort, and if so, what crime.” She glanced at Ren, who went cold. “You said no. But when I reviewed your record, Ren-san, I discovered that that’s not the case.”

Akechi had gone perfectly, preternaturally still. Ren swallowed, and said, “I don’t understand. What do you—”

“You were convicted,” she said, flipping through her papers, “of assault and battery, at age fifteen.”

“That conviction was overturned.”

“Yes, so it was. But it’s still a point of concern.”

 _Why_? Ren didn’t ask. He knew better.

“And then there were—well—a number of charges against you the following year. You were accused of—goodness. Many, many crimes, some of them extremely serious. I understand you took a plea bargain?”

“Yes,” Ren said. His voice sounded like it was coming from someone else. “I did. I thought—my attorney at the time told me that if I took the plea, my record would be expunged.”

Gomi’s smile was thin. “They were mistaken.”

She stared at him like she expected a response, but he didn’t have one. A dull whine was filling his brain. Sae had said—she’d said—what had she said? Had he misunderstood her? Had she ever told him his record would be cleared, or had he imagined that? Or had it—had it been a question of anonymity, that he could testify and his name would be kept out of the press, but anyone who went looking would still be able to see—

 _Talk about the works_ , said the memory of an unpleasant voice, barely comprehensible through a dull haze.

Gomi looked back at her paperwork. “You were sentenced to time served, I understand. And you haven’t engaged in any further criminal activity. At least,” she added delicately, “nothing you were arrested for.” Ren couldn’t help it; he flushed. “I would genuinely like to leave Maya and Sai in your care, but given your past, I need to know: why didn’t you disclose this on your initial application? Were you trying to hide it, because you knew it would lead to rejection?”

She was staring at him again, open and expectant, and he knew that every second ticking by was a point against them. Against _him_. The answer was right there, if he could only open his mouth without spraying bile all over the table. He hadn’t been hiding it. He hadn’t known there was anything to hide. He’d thought that was all behind him; he’d thought they’d finally left him alone. He’d thought it was over.

So much for that.

Akechi’s hand landed on his. “Gomi-san,” he said, light and bright and cloying, and Ren only narrowly managed to stay still. “Please accept our most profound apologies. This is a genuine misunderstanding. Ren’s attorney told him that, if he agreed to testify against the ringleader of the conspiracy he found himself bound up in—” Ren’s gorge surged. It was one thing to dredge up the Detective Prince, another thing entirely to give Ren _Akechi’s backstory_ —“his record would be cleared, and he could resume a normal life.”

“So you know about this?” Gomi said. “You know about his history?”

Akechi tipped his head to one side, widened his eyes. “Why, of course,” he trilled. “As you very well know, Gomi-san, I am a detective; justice is my guiding star. As soon as it became clear that what we had together was serious, Ren told me everything.” Ren found himself nodding, playing along, even as he built a fortress in his mind to hide in. “And I must say, I can think of no greater success story from the Japanese justice system. Here was a young man swept into a world of violence and chaos, shown the error of his ways and set firmly on the right path! I can assure you that there’s been no further deviant behavior.” Akechi gave a tinkling laugh, and Ren knew that if he looked at him, his eyes would be closed. “If there was, I would know.”

Gomi smiled. “I imagine you would, Akechi-san.”

“Quite.” Akechi coughed into his fist. “And I hope you’ll take into account that Ren has dedicated his life to helping those most at risk of falling into ruin. Counseling people through the worst moments of their lives.” Akechi looked at Ren, kissed his knuckles. Ren forced himself to return his gooey smile. “I’m not ashamed to admit that he’s an inspiration to me.”

Gomi beamed at them. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that this was an honest mistake. And I’m delighted, Ren-san, that you’ve found someone who believes so much in you.”

“Me too,” Ren managed around the cockroach twitching in his throat.

“I’m delighted, too, to recommend to the court that this adoption be finalized.” Gomi clicked her pen. “I assume the girls will take your surname? Akechi?”

“Yes,” Ren said. “With their original surname as their middle names.”

Gomi raised her eyebrows. “Oh! How nice. All right. Maya Kirino Akechi and Saiko Kirino Akechi. The court reviews cases every Thursday, so I’ll submit my recommendation tomorrow morning. You should receive the official papers within the next fourteen days. As soon as they’re in hand, you will legally be Sai and Maya’s parents.”

Akechi squeezed Ren’s hand. Ren wished he could squeeze back; wished he didn’t feel so sick. “Thank you very much, Gomi-san,” Akechi said, in his normal voice. “We’re very grateful.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said, closing her bag. “Truly.”

They each shook her hand, and showed her out. Akechi closed the door gently behind her, sighed, leaned against it.

“Thank god that’s over,” he muttered.

Ren stood there, arms folded, pressing tightly on his chest to keep his lungs from climbing out. He couldn’t look at Akechi; couldn’t risk seeing that face again, blank and plastic and hateful. Why did it always have to go like this? Why couldn’t there be a single thing in Ren’s life that wasn’t somehow tainted or twisted by what he’d done? They weren’t even mistakes. He’d never regretted his work with the Phantom Thieves; they’d done the right thing, over and over and over, but society had decided they hadn’t done it in the right _way_ , so he’d taken the fall. Taken the blame. He’d never regretted that, either. But for it to resurface now, of all times, and threaten what he and Akechi had worked so hard to achieve—

“Ren?” Akechi said.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Ren said.

“Did what?”

“You know what,” Ren countered, digging his nails into his arms.

Akechi scoffed. “What, played the Prince? Please. That was nothing.”

“It’s something,” Ren said, “to me.”

“Why? It worked, didn’t it?”

“It’s not _you_. We were supposed to be honest, and you lied—”

He could almost hear Akechi frown. “I wasn’t lying,” he said. “I was telling her what she wanted to hear. And I’d do it again.”

Ren shook his head.

“Does it really bother you that much?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Why?”

“Because—because you shouldn’t have had to,” Ren said. It sounded wrong, felt like a lie. It was. “It shouldn’t have even come up.”

Akechi narrowed his eyes. “Well, it did. And I did what I had to to make it go away again.”

“But you shouldn’t—”

“Aren’t you always telling me that there is no should or shouldn’t? It just _is_. We had a problem, and I fixed it. That’s all.”

“I don’t want you to fix things that way,” Ren growled. “I don’t want you to wear a mask—”

“It’s not up to you.”

“It should be! When it’s because of me, it—”

“It wasn’t because of you, it was because of Shido,” Akechi retorted, eyes flashing. “You think I should have let that woman take Maya and Sai away from us? I should have let Shido dictate the course of our lives from _beyond the grave_? No. Never. If I have to pretend to be that _creature_ for five minutes to make sure we have a future together, I will. I’ll do it a million times.”

“I don’t like it,” Ren grumbled, a petulant, childish thing to say, but it was all he had.

“Why?” Akechi demanded.

Ren tried to look at him, but he couldn’t. The fear was clutching at his gut again, dragging his gaze away. He didn’t want to see…what he might have seen, if he looked. The blood, the gun, the smile.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Yes you do,” Akechi replied. “And it’s tied up in everything else, isn’t it? It’s tied up in what’s been bothering you. Admit it.”

The lump in Ren’s throat made it difficult to answer, so he didn’t. And he was saved having to by Maya’s door banging open.

“Well?” she said, stalking up to them, pulling Sai along. “What did she say?”

Ren hitched on a smile. “We did it,” he said. “You’re ours.”

Maya sagged. “Thank _god_.”

“We get to stay?” Sai said.

“Yup,” Ren said, scooping her up and kissing her forehead. “Forever.”

She beamed at him. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Akechi slipped his arm around Maya’s shoulders and pulled her to his side, hugging tight.

“We gotta celebrate!” Morgana exclaimed. “This is a big deal! We should go out. We should get sushi!”

Akechi perked up. “I like the sound of that.”

Ren laughed. “Of course you do. What do you guys think?”

Maya looked shifty. “Can we get…the fancy kind?”

“I think that’s only fair.”

“Cool.” She grinned. “I like the fancy kind.”

“What about you, Sai?” Ren asked, bouncing her lightly on his hip. “Sushi?”

“Sushi,” Sai confirmed, putting her arms around his neck.

“All right. Then we need coats, and shoes, and Morgana’s bag…”

As they were swept into the whirlwind of getting ready, Akechi fixed him with a look that said, _We need to talk, and we are going to_. Ren’s stomach clenched, but he nodded.

***

“I really appreciate this, Ann,” Akechi said quietly. “We need a night to ourselves.”

He was standing in Ann and Ryuji’s kitchen, watching the kids settle in for their sleepover. It was Friday, and Ann and Ryuji had agreed to take Sai and Maya for the night so Ren and Akechi could hash out whatever it was they needed to hash out. There was probably going to be yelling, and neither of them wanted to subject the girls to that. Even Morgana, who knew exactly how loud they could be, had opted to spend the weekend with Haru.

“Oh, anytime,” Ann said, waving her hand. “If you need us to keep them through tomorrow, too, we can. Just say the word.”

Akechi hoped it wouldn't come to that. Maya was already nervous enough. From the minute they’d announced the plan, she’d been side-eyeing them both. And last night, after they’d put Sai to bed, she’d cornered them and said:

“Are you guys getting divorced?”

Ren’s jaw dropped. Akechi’s first impulse was to laugh, but she was so serious, her arms crossed so tight, that he tamped it down. “What makes you think that?”

“Well,” she said, shifting her weight, “you’ve been fighting. You think I can’t hear you, but I can.” Ren winced. “And you don’t like, hold hands or cuddle anymore. I mean, it was gross when you did, but you’re obviously not getting along.” Maya shrugged, tossed her hair. “If you’re getting divorced, I just want to know.”

The idea was ludicrous, and Akechi felt guilty for thinking so, because Maya was clearly and genuinely concerned. Still. Divorce? _Them_? Because Ren was being stupid in ways he’d been stupid before, and would be again? As far as Akechi knew, neither of them had ever considered leaving the other after those first few bumpy years. (For his part, Akechi hadn’t considered it even then, but he’d been pretty convinced that Ren was only inches away from throwing up his hands.) The concept was ridiculous on its face. Leaving Ren would be like cutting off his own arm and throwing it in the gutter: silly and wasteful, not to mention painful.

“We’re not getting divorced,” he replied. “Ren needs to go see a counselor, but he won’t, so I’m going to shout at him until he does. That’s all.”

Maya inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, glanced at Ren. “Really?”

“Really,” Ren said. “I’m just being stubborn.”

“If you know that,” Maya said, “then can’t you just…stop?”

“I guess not.”

She still looked skeptical. Stepping forward, Ren crouched down so they were eye level.

“The only people in my life that I love more than Akechi,” he said, low and earnest, “are you and your sister.” Maya bristled, blushed, looked away. “I’m not leaving him and I’m not leaving you. Okay?”

Now, sitting in Ann’s living room, Maya kept her eyes trained on Ren, sharp and assessing, like any minute she’d see the chink in his armor that proved the lie. Ren was pretending not to notice. He hovered near the doorway with Ryuji, smiling softly while Ryuji flailed and gestured his way through their conversation.

“Look at them,” Ann sighed, resting her chin on her hand. “No wonder they get along so well. Acting all tough.”

“I know,” Akechi drawled. “It’s infuriating.”

“Once you guys have worked it out,” she said, eyeing him, “I might need you to return the favor. Ryuji’s _okay_ , but...”

“I know precisely what you mean. Say the word and we’ll be here.”

Grinning, she bumped her shoulder against his. “Thanks.”

“All right,” Akechi said, raising his voice, rounding the counter. “Time for us to go.”

“One last hug?” Ren asked Sai, who detached herself from the complicated game Mei had roped her into and gave him a quick squeeze.

“Bye!” she said, and dove back in.

“Aw,” Ren murmured, touching his chest. “That hurt.”

“You’ll get used to it,” said Ryuji.

Maya, wearing a ferocious scowl, marched over and threw her arms around Ren’s waist. He nearly staggered, staring down at her, stunned; and then he wrapped his arms around her in return.

“We’re okay,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Sniffing, she pulled away, just in time for Akechi to steer her into a one-armed hug. Trembling mightily, she pressed her face against his side. Akechi and Ren exchanged a look, Akechi determined, Ren dismayed. They were going to work this out. They were.

“I love you,” Akechi told Maya.

“Ugh,” she grumbled, shoving him off, rubbing her eyes. “Just go already.”

***

They were silent on the train, but not tense. Akechi sat with his legs crossed and his arms loosely folded, Ren right up against his shoulder, very warm. Every so often, when the train rattled over a particularly messy bump, their knees banged together.

At their stop, Ren got up and offered Akechi his hand. Akechi took it without hesitation, and held it all the way home. Inside, they let go so they could shed coats and shoes, turn on lights, transition into negotiation mode.

“So,” Akechi said, turning, and Ren pounced.

He slammed full-length into Akechi, fisted his hands in his shirt, swung him around and down, off his feet. Akechi landed flat on his back, had the instinctive sense to hold his breath in his lungs; and when Ren lunged to pin him, brought his feet up to catch Ren in the stomach and fling him over. In the Metaverse, Ren might have been able to turn that into a flip; but in reality he crashed onto his side, sat up, launched himself back at Akechi and locked both arms around his waist to bear him to the ground. He slammed Akechi’s hips and his wrists to the floor and hunched there on top of him, panting, eyes gleaming.

“Breathless already?” Akechi said, curling his lip. “You’re out of practice.”

“Guess I am,” Ren replied, casually rolling his hips. Akechi hissed in a breath between his teeth.

“Don’t start that again,” he growled. “We both know you can’t—”

But he broke off, gasping, as Ren’s length, half-mast but better than nothing, dragged against him _._

A smile stretched across Ren’s face like a lazy cat. “Who says?”

With a deft twist of his spine, Akechi reversed their positions, gripping both of Ren’s wrists in one hand. Ren rocked up into him, head falling back, neck arching.

“I told you I wanted to _talk_ ,” Akechi reminded him, squeezing until the bones of Ren’s wrists ground together, until Ren whined low in his throat. “Not fuck you.”

“You wanted to talk,” Ren said, tilting his head to expose his pulse point, utterly tempting, “because you want to fuck me.”

“You are deliberately distracting me.”

“Is it working?”

And he sinuously rolled his spine so that Akechi’s dick, desperate for any kind of attention after more than a week of neglect, throbbed in his pants. Growling, Akechi ground down hard, forcing him to be still, and Ren made a pleased, encouraging little noise.

 _Ding_ , went the lightbulb over Akechi’s head.

“You like that?” he purred, repeating the motion. Ren shivered, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “You want me to hurt you?”

He squeezed Ren’s wrists again, hard enough to bruise. Ren flexed his fingers.

“You want me to bite you?” Akechi nipped Ren’s ear and tugged, earning a gasp. “Scratch you? Should I make you bleed?”

With his free hand, Akechi pushed Ren’s shirt up and raked his nails down his side. Ren flinched, twisting away and into it at once, and trembled when Akechi trailed his fingertips along the livid marks.

“Maybe I should beat you,” Akechi said thoughtfully, closing his hand around Ren’s throat. “Or choke you. It’s been a while.”

“Yes,” Ren whispered. “Ye—” Akechi tightened his grip; Ren bucked, sucked in a reedy breath, rattled. “ _Yes_.”

“So that’s what you want?” Akechi prompted, light and brisk. “You want me to hurt you?”

Ren didn’t answer right away. Akechi leaned his full weight onto his hands until Ren’s arms jerked, until his mouth fell open; and then Akechi let up, watching the color come back to his face.

“Answer me,” he said. “You want me to punish you?”

“Yes,” Ren croaked, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.”

Akechi smiled, slow and sweet as treacle. “ _Why_?”

Ren’s eyes snapped open. Akechi shoved him away, got up.

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize _my own shitty coping mechanisms_?” he demanded. “Did you think you were _clever_?”

Ren was still shaking, but not with excitement. Carefully, he sat up, avoiding Akechi’s gaze. “I—”

“ _Why_ ,” Akechi snarled, “do you want me to punish you? What have you done to deserve it?”

Ren slumped forward, staring down at his hands, limp in his lap.

“I can wait all night.”

“I’m afraid to tell you.”

“Because you think I’ll be angry?” Akechi bit off a laugh. “I’m already angry. How could you possibly make it worse?”

“Believe me,” Ren muttered, “it could be worse.”

“What does that _mean_? Why do you insist on being so cryptic? What do you know that I don’t?” Another lightbulb, another _ding_ , and Akechi stood up straight, alight with an electric understanding. “What _do_ you know that I don’t?”

Closing his eyes, Ren levered himself to his feet. “Akechi—”

“Did you see—” Akechi grabbed his arm, pulled him forward, hungrily searched his expression. He was getting somewhere, he knew he was; he’d found an opening and was finally prying Ren’s armor apart. “What did you see?”

“See where?” Ren asked, dull, resigned.

“In the Sea of Souls,” Akechi snapped. “Stop pretending. If it’s not about Kubo and it’s not about Nyarlathotep, then it must be about that. What was it? What happened to you?”

“What happened to _you_?” Ren countered, not quite glaring at him. “You said you lost Robin Hood—”

“Don’t change the subject.”

“Why should I talk to you if you won’t talk to me?”

“Because _I_ have talked to Chuichi. But you—” Ren wrenched his arm from Akechi’s grasp, turned on his heel, paced away—“won’t talk to anyone, least of all me! _What_ _did you_ _see_?”

Every muscle in Ren’s back, his shoulders, his arms was stark against the fabric of his shirt as he stood there, breathing carefully and deeply, facing the wall. Akechi braced his feet, set his jaw, waited. They had all night.

“I know that I have to talk to someone,” Ren said at last, choosing his words with absolute and deliberate care. “But you’re not going to like who it is.”

Akechi squinted at him. There were only two people in the world that Akechi wouldn’t like Ren talking to, and one of them was dead. That left—

Ice water flooded his veins.

“ _Why_ ,” he breathed, “do you need to talk to _Maruki_?”

Ren turned just far enough for Akechi to see the tendon working in his cheek, the fingers digging into his elbow as he folded his arms across his chest.

“I need to ask him about what I saw,” he said, slow and steady and _infuriating_.

“ _What did you see_?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” Ren said, “until I talk to him.”

“Why?” Akechi hissed, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Why _him_? What does that mean? What did you—”

Except that he could guess, now, if Maruki was involved. He had an inkling, a terrible suspicion gnawing at the base of his brain. He wanted to take Ren and shake him and make him say it, make him explain, and in a former life—ha! Ha _ha_ ha!—he might have. In this one he knew better, in this one he was reduced to impotent spitting, like a declawed cat, and he loathed it. He despised it.

“If you knew he could help you,” Akechi added, latching onto his only available weapon, “why didn’t you go see him sooner? Ring him up for a nice little chat?”

Ren frowned at him, not hurt enough, _not hurt enough_. “I wanted to see if it would go away on its own.”

“And when you realized it wouldn’t, why didn’t you just _go_?”

“I didn’t want to meet him without telling you. I didn’t want to sneak around.”

“Sneak around,” Akechi scoffed, jerking his head. “He’s not your _ex._ I don’t need to know who you’re speaking to every minute of every day.”

Ren raised his eyebrows. “You’re right. He’s not my ex. He was my counselor—”

“A shitty one.”

“—and my teacher—”

“A worse one!”

“—and I know why you don’t like him—”

“Don’t get it twisted,” Akechi spat. “I _hate_ him.”

Ren barely, barely avoided rolling his eyes. “Well, I don’t have to hate him just because you do. Besides, he’s—if you think about it, he’s a victim too.”

Akechi swelled like an angry toad. “What are you talking about?”

“Nyarlathotep gave him Azathoth."

“ _So_?”

“So, it was a lot of power for one person,” Ren said. “A lot to handle. Maybe too much.”

“Do not,” Akechi seethed, “ _do not_ compare his situation to mine.”

“I’m just saying, there are similarities—”

“ _There are not_. I was a _child;_ he was an adult in full possession of his senses who still opted to _lobotomize_ his fiancée—”

Akechi stopped, because the one thing that could have wiped away his fury in that moment had happened: Ren had gone the color of sour milk, and sucked in a breath, and turned away.

“Ren,” Akechi said. “If you—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ren rasped. “Not yet. Not until I see him.”

And what could Akechi say to that?

“Fine,” he muttered, dragging his hand through his hair. “Fine. Do you even have his number?”

“No,” Ren replied, with effort. “But I’m sure Futaba can find it.”

Akechi took out his phone, opened the Phantom Thieves group chat, and typed: _Futaba, could you please find Takuto Maruki’s contact information and send it to Ren?_

Ren’s phone pinged. He frowned, pulled it out, stared at it.

“That’s not how I would have done that,” he said quietly.

“I know,” Akechi replied, as both of their phones began to go off in rapid succession. “But then, I can’t be sure you would have done it at all.”

“I’ll never hear the end of it now.”

“That’s the point. Accountability.”

“Or punishment.” His phone began to ring. He sagged. “Sumire’s _calling_ me,” he said, and it sounded like _Are you happy now?_ , and no, Akechi wasn’t. He felt like he’d swallowed something rotten.

Ren answered the call. “Hi, Sumire,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Mmhm. No, everything’s fine…”

Somehow, Akechi piloted himself into the living room and onto the couch, where he huddled forward and clasped his hands on the back of his neck. He was tired of fighting with Ren, tired of feeling out of control, tired, tired, tired. Things were supposed to get better after Ren came back; Akechi was supposed to be free of this constant, crushing pressure on his heart ( _no such thing as supposed to, no such thing as should or shouldn’t_ ).

He was supposed to be better than this.

Eventually Ren came in and said, “Do you want coffee?”

Akechi sat up, nodded. Ren nodded back and padded into the kitchen. After a moment Akechi joined him, taking a seat at the table, watching his hands move in the familiar patterns honed over nearly two decades of practice.

“You should’ve stayed a barista,” Akechi remarked. “I think you missed your calling.”

“Eh, the hours were shit,” Ren replied easily, rinsing the filter. “What do you want?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

“The usual, then.”

Akechi just looked at him, looked and looked and looked, couldn’t stop, didn’t want to, didn’t dare. Even when Ren set a steaming cup in front of him and sat down with his own, sighing, Akechi sat there looking, mapping the hair and skin and flesh and bone he knew so well because now, _now_ , he knew it could vanish at any second, and he needed to memorize it every chance he got.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Ren blinked at him, softened, took his hand. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “It’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maya isn’t even eleven yet and she already has big “I’m eleven, so shut the fuck up” energy


	20. Passerine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** references to suicide; explicit sex (dom!akechi; sub!ren; handjobs, frotting, orgasm denial, blowjobs)
> 
> [the sex is bracketed by horizontal lines; please feel free to skip it if it’s not your thing!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vx-oLkW5vv0)
> 
> [_You were the song that I’d always sing_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vx-oLkW5vv0)
> 
> [
> 
> _You were the light that the fire would bring_
> 
> _But I can’t shake this feeling that I was only_
> 
> _Pushing the spear into your side again_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vx-oLkW5vv0)

[CHATLOG. Makoto Niijima to Aigis, Narukami, and Yuki, 11/18/XX, 8:32PM]

 **Makoto** Hello. I’m sorry to disturb your evenings.  
 **Makoto** Has Ren spoken to any of you about anything recently?  
 **Makoto** Anything that might be bothering him?

 **Yuki** no

 **Narukami** No.

_Aigis is typing.........._

**Narukami** C’mon Aigis, you can do it  
 **Narukami** Tell the lie

 **Aigis** I’m sorry.  
 **Aigis** Deception is still difficult for me.

 **Yuki** it’s ok

 **Makoto** So you do know what’s wrong.  
 **Makoto** Will you tell me, please?

 **Yuki** no

 **Makoto** Why not?

 **Narukami** If Ren wanted you to know, you’d know. It’s not our story to tell  
 **Narukami** And we don’t know any details anyway.

 **Aigis** Why are you asking? Did something happen?

 **Makoto** He says he wants to speak with Takuto Maruki. Do you all know who that is?

 **Yuki** yes

 **Makoto** Well, if that’s so, then you also know that Maruki isn’t the most trustworthy person.  
 **Makoto** And that speaking to him is not the best idea.

 **Yuki** that’s not up to you.

 **Makoto** We’re all concerned about Ren. He doesn’t always handle things like this in the healthiest way. If we knew what was going on, we could figure out better ways to support him.

 **Yuki** if he wants your support, he’ll ask for it.  
 **Yuki** sorry, but it’s a no from me.

 **Aigis** I’m sorry, Niijima-san.

 **Narukami** Does Akechi know?

 **Makoto** He seems to.

 **Narukami** Then Ren’ll be fine. Try not to worry.

***

[CHATLOG. Futaba to Ren, 11/19/XX, 4:16AM]

 **Futaba** Okay, I found it.  
 **Futaba** Are you sure about this?

 **Ren** Yes.

 **Futaba** That was fast  
 **Futaba** I sort of hoped you’d be sleeping

 **Ren** No.

 **Futaba** Jeez.  
 **Futaba** You’re not making this easy  
 **Futaba** I don’t want to give this to you  
 **Futaba** And the one word answers aren’t exactly helping

_Ren is typing..............._

**Ren** It’s really not that big of a deal.

 **Futaba** ughhhhhh  
 **Futaba** okay how about this  
 **Futaba** After you talk to him, will you tell us what it was all about?

 **Ren** Yes.

 **Futaba** -_-  
 **Futaba** Liar.  
 **Futaba** Will you tell *Akechi* what it was all about?

 **Ren** Yes. I promise.

 **Futaba** [sigh]  
 **Futaba** Okay.

***

Maruki was only too happy to hear from Ren, and would be delighted—that was the word he used, _delighted_ —to meet with him. It had been too long.

He was immensely, intensely, theatrically grateful for the coffee. Ren brought it in a thermos and distributed it between the two of them as they wandered through Hachioji, where Maruki apparently lived, or at least where he spent most of his time. Ren knew it as the place where he’d first re-encountered Akechi after a year of believing he was dead; and thereafter as Akechi’s campus, where they’d stolen time between classes or met up after exams.

Things had changed, of course. Including Maruki. It was strange, looking at him, to think that he’d probably been in his mid-thirties—right around Ren’s current age—when they’d first met. That would make him fifty-something now, and it showed in his short gray hair, the prominent veins in his hands, the wrinkles that puckered the corners of his eyes and mouth. Apparently he’d done a lot of smiling in all these years of penance. He still wore glasses—thin metal frames, instead of the chunky ones that had been the style back then—and behind them, his eyes were the same, bright and curious and warm.

His eyes were wide now, his jaw slack, as Ren finished his story. Maruki uttered a low whistle, ran his hand through his hair, cast about for the nearest bench and slumped onto it.

“But—but this is _astonishing_ ,” Maruki said, goggling up at Ren. “ _You_ are astonishing.”

Ren shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You came back from the dead!”

“Akechi brought me back.”

The shock faded, replaced by something sly, coy. “He certainly did. And may I say, I knew from the beginning—”

“You knew because you looked inside my head and saw it.”

“Ah, but Akechi-kun made his own choices! He was adamant about that.” Maruki smiled sadly. “I never quite figured him out. I’m glad you did.”

Ren frowned, looked away, down the sidewalk. The sky was grey, the air chilly and moist. If he’d been wearing glasses, they would have been misty. He almost wished he was. He was too easy to read without them.

On cue, Maruki said, “Ren?”

Now or never.

Ren sat down beside him, studying his coffee, swirling it idly in his cup. “I wouldn’t say I figured him out,” he murmured. “He wasn’t ever something to be solved, for me. I just—understood. I can’t explain it.”

“Hm,” Maruki said. “It seems to me that understanding is the strongest basis for love.”

“It has been for us, I think. Once I actually convinced him I understood him.”

“Everything okay, on that front?”

It was the perfect opening. Ren swerved.

“Why wouldn’t it be? He saved my life. Literally saved my life.”

“I don’t know,” Maruki mused, leaning back. “I could see that level of devotion putting pressure on a relationship. Being willing to do _anything_ for someone.”

 _Even rewrite reality_ , he didn’t say. Somehow, even when they were talking about Ren, they were still talking about him. It was what had made him an effective counselor, once. He could make you feel like he resonated at your unique frequency by expressing your feelings before you did. By making them his, and thereby making them normal.

“That’s not it,” Ren said. “I knew that about him already. The lengths he’d go.”

“He’s always been very driven,” Maruki said, like he was agreeing. “Single-minded. That was my impression of him.”

 _While I was rifling around inside his brain_. “He was,” Ren said. “All he wanted to do was ruin his father.”

Maruki nodded. “I got that impression, too. That was...one of his last thoughts, you know.” It was all Ren could do not to shoot off the bench, away from him. “That, and _I hope Ren_ —”

Ren really did stand up then, so fast that his coffee sloshed across his wrist. Maruki jumped. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ren muttered, shaking off his hand. “It’s not hot.”

“I’m sorry if that was too personal,” Maruki said, attempting a smile, mea culpa. “It’s...hard to know where the line is, sometimes.”

No it wasn’t. Not if you cared about people’s agency. But Ren didn’t say that. He put down his cup, wiped his arm on his coat, stuffed his hands in his pockets and stared into the distance, at the outline of a building faintly visible through the fog.

He heard the _tmp_ as Maruki set down his own coffee, the rustle of fabric as he stood up too. No doubt he had his hands in his pockets. Mirror, mirror. “Ren,” he said gently. “What are we doing here?”

Ren couldn’t say it. It stuck in his throat, dense as a stone, not quite cutting off his airflow but almost. He’d felt like this with Philemon, too; he hadn’t wanted to ask for the answers he needed because he didn’t want them to be bad. To be wrong. How had he gotten past it?

By coming at it sideways. By manifesting a door, a vent, a grappling hook.

“If I had taken your offer,” Ren said. Maruki went still. “Back then. What would you have done to Goro?”

A long pause. And then: “Are you sure you—”

Ren turned to meet his gaze, suddenly and utterly certain. “Yes.”

He watched Maruki’s expression flicker, watched him try to figure out how best to react. Maruki settled for a sort of pained grimace, an affectation of regret pasted over a bubbling excitement that made Ren’s stomach churn.

“Well,” he said, clapping his hands, and then rubbing them together like he’d meant to do so all along, “the first thing to address, of course, would have been his past. Naturally I would’ve revived Aiku.”

“His mother.”

“Yes. Her death was, after all, the axle on which his life turned.” Ren’s mouth went sour. “In my timeline, Aiku would never have felt the need to end her life. I would have written Shido out of the equation. Goro would have been born after, say, a chance dalliance with a college friend. He would have grown up comfortable, cared for, loved.” Maruki beamed at Ren. “And then he would have met all of you.”

“How?”

“You, first,” he said, almost giddy, like a toddler showing a guest their toys. “He would have walked into Leblanc, and there you would have been. Through you, he would have met your friends, joined your circle—”

“But he wouldn’t have had any friends of his own.”

Maruki waved this away. “Sure, he would have had friends. Acquaintances. Classmates. But you, you! You would have been the brightest star in his sky.” Ren looked away, glared at his feet. “His soulmate.”

“I don’t want that,” Ren said. “I never wanted that.”

“Part of you did. Part of you loved him already—”

“ _All of me loved him already_ ,” Ren spat, head snapping up, and whatever Maruki saw in his face made him recoil. “Loved _him_ , not the groveling dog you wanted to turn him into.”

“I didn’t—”

“Don’t you see what you were doing? Don’t you see, _now_ , that stripping away his past would make him _not himself_?”

“People aren’t defined by their traumas,” Maruki countered. “They—”

“They’re defined by how they react to them,” Ren snapped. “How they overcome them. You never did, and you never gave Rumi the chance, so you don’t know—”

Maruki went white. “How dare—”

Ren advanced on Maruki, jerking his hands out of his pockets, squaring his shoulders. “Do you want to know what the Goro of your reality was like?” he demanded. “What you made him? What _I_ made him?”

“What—” Maruki’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Some dim, self-preserving part of Ren’s brain clamored for him to stop, to shut up, to back down, but the rest of him was determined at last to void the poison sloshing in his gut, to spit the broken glass out of his mouth.

“You know how people say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes?” Ren’s chest hitched as he inhaled. “Well, it did for me. But it wasn’t _my_ life. It was some other Ren’s. A Ren who took your deal.”

Something like curiosity sparked in Maruki’s expression. Ren couldn’t stand to look at him anymore, couldn’t stand to see how _eager_ he was, so he turned his gaze back to the shadowy building opposite, crossed his arms against a sudden chill.

“He hated it,” Ren said, before Maruki could ask. “I hated it. Sometimes I forgot it wasn’t real, and it was fine for a while, but then something impossible would happen and I would hate it all over again. But I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t tell the others; I couldn’t get away. Even Goro—” The name felt wrong in his mouth, thick in his throat—“even _Akechi_ , I couldn’t—”

By now, Ren had had a lot of time to think about this, and the best metaphor he’d come up with was: there was a type of moth that laid its eggs inside a seedpod. When the larvae hatched, they ate the inside of the seed, pupated, and then emerged as fully-grown moths. But while they were growing, they were very sensitive to heat—especially the heat given off by human skin. They twitched, and the seeds twitched with them. Jumping beans.

Living in Maruki’s reality was like being one of those larvae. You were trapped in the dark, kept alive by sheer force of will, exposed to the world outside by only the faintest suggestions of heat. And no matter how hard you struggled, you could never see what was touching you, moving you, carrying you around. You knew something was, sometimes. But not what, and not how to make it stop.

In the face of that, how were you supposed to fight? How were you supposed to escape? How many seconds of conscious thought did you have to cobble together in order to build your cocoon, gather your strength, and finally break free? And how many precious seconds would you have before the net closed over you again?

How long would it take you to find a gun? Bullets? Hide them away, don’t let _him_ see (who see?), don’t let him know or they’ll be gone the next time you open that drawer. Figure out how to keep your face blank, your smile bland, your mind clear as crystal, and let the water run underneath the ice, let the thoughts flow. Steal the moments of lucidity and hoard them too, keep them in your pockets, save them up like tokens to be exchanged in stolen moments, when Goro turned to you and it was Akechi looking out, when he was awake and you were awake and you could reach into the drawer and take out the gun and watch him smile, really smile, for the first time since you had condemned him to this life, this hell—

“Ren,” Maruki said. He didn’t sound excited anymore. He sounded sick. “Ren, I am...so sorry.”

Sometimes, being able to talk your way out of anything was a curse. “What for?” Ren asked. “I’m the one who—”

“First,” Maruki said, firmly, “we need to establish that _you_ did not do anything.” Ren closed his eyes, shook his head. “If you can’t hear that and believe it right now, fine, but _you_ did not do this. Second, ultimately all of this is my fault. I knew exactly what I was doing when I told you about Akechi’s situation. It was blackmail. It was manipulation.”

“I didn’t have to fall for it.”

“ _And you didn’t_. In this life, you didn’t. In this life, you stopped me. But you should never have had to.” Ren’s throat constricted; he tipped his chin down, dug his fingertips into his arm. “I should have known better; I should have realized what I was doing—”

“You weren’t well,” Ren said automatically, because it was true, because he wasn’t here to make Maruki feel guilty, because he— “You weren’t in your right mind.”

“And I traumatized you,” Maruki said. He sounded so regretful, so _sad_ , that Ren’s skin crawled. “Then and now.”

Ren wanted to say, You didn’t traumatize me. He wanted to say, It wasn’t a big deal. I dealt. I had a choice to make and I made it. I made all kinds of choices that year. Somehow, everything worked out. I was fine. If I’m not fine now, it’s because I know that everything could have been different. Everything _was_ different, somewhere else. Another you gave me the same choice, and I was too weak to resist it, and because of me, Akechi suffered, and then he died.

He was aware that none of this was reasonable or rational. A fine, pearlescent part of his brain, the part that was always watching him, always weighing his reactions and feelings on some cosmic scale, was dissecting these arguments even as he made them, laying out all the logical reasons why he shouldn’t feel this way. Of course he traumatized you, it said; let me count the ways. You weren’t fine, or you wouldn’t be reacting like this. Delayed reactions, even by years, are a thing. How many times have you told a client that? How many times have you repeated it until they believed it, because it was true? Why can’t you extend yourself the same kindness and courtesy?

What’s wrong with you?

“I killed him,” Ren said, without deciding he was going to. “And then myself.”

Maruki let out a long, shaky breath and put his face in his hands.

“It was the only way out,” Ren added, lifting one shoulder, letting it fall. If he kept talking, he wouldn’t be able to throw up. Wasn’t that how it worked? “He wanted me to. He asked me to.”

Maruki made a strangled sound, dragged his palms down to his mouth.

“And I got us into it,” Ren said, “so—”

“You had to get you out,” Maruki finished. He sounded, finally, like he knew how Ren felt. Dead, or, maybe—

“Yes.”

Silence. In it, the dread and horror yawning in Ren’s gut, always yawning in Ren’s gut, ebbed a fraction, borne back by something familiar and unfamiliar. Guilt, not because of what he’d done to Akechi but because of what he was doing to Maruki, right now.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “This isn’t fair, I shouldn’t—”

“Please don’t apologize,” Maruki said. “Please. If telling me helps you in any way, it’s worth it.”

Worth it, to give him something else to torture himself for. Ren knew he would. That’s what Ren would have done, had done, was doing.

“Have you told Akechi about this?” Maruki asked.

The idea made every muscle in Ren’s body clench in absolute, mortal terror. “No,” he replied. “I haven’t. And I won’t.”

“Why not?”

The question was laughable, so Ren laughed at it. “Are you kidding? He would never—he was so—he never, _never_ wanted to be controlled by anyone else. Especially not you. If he knew that I had, had, had betrayed him like that—” Keep talking, don’t puke, keep talking and you won’t—“He would never—forgive—”

“But you want his forgiveness,” Maruki said, carefully, like he was working something out. “Don’t you?”

Ren’s eyes stung.

“And he can’t forgive you if he doesn’t know,” Maruki continued. “So...”

Ren was pretty sure he couldn’t breathe, hadn’t felt his lungs move in an eternity, so he was surprised when he managed to speak. “I couldn’t stand it,” he whispered, “if he hated me. If he _really_ hated me. If he knew, and he...”

Maruki hesitated. And then, cool and calm, he said, “Isn’t it a form of control, to keep it from him? To not give him the choice?”

***

So Ren told him.

They still had the house to themselves. Ann and Ryuji had agreed to keep the girls at least until that afternoon, if not longer, and Morgana had agreed to stay at Haru’s, even though he was frantic to come back. Ren sat Akechi down at the kitchen table, made them both coffee in case it was the last time and also to give his quaking hands something to clutch, and told him.

People said, often, that Ren was a soothing presence. Something about him attracted people, especially people who needed understanding and acceptance. He made them feel safe, and they told him things they’d never told anyone else. Most of the time, he didn’t even have to offer advice; they came to their own conclusions and thanked him like he’d suggested them. (In fairness, their conclusions typically gelled with his own.) They walked away confident that someone else in the world understood them, and he walked away patting himself on the back for a job well done. Way to be supportive, Ren. Way to make yourself useful.

But he’d very rarely felt supportive of or useful to _himself_. He could circle a problem in the privacy of his own skull until he worked it out or exhausted it, but he couldn’t tell someone else about it. At least, not without a lot of pushing. And even then, he wasn’t usually coherent.

So how he managed to sit there, watching steam collect on the surface of his coffee, and lay out the facts in a mild, dispassionate drone—he didn’t know. He didn’t know where he found the strength, or the will, or the way, except that he believed Maruki: if he didn’t, he’d be robbing Akechi of his agency all over again.

And he would never, ever, ever do that to him in this life.

What he did not do was _look_ at Akechi, which was probably driving him nuts, but he couldn’t risk it. If he saw whatever was happening in Akechi’s expression, if he saw the loathing no doubt mounting there, the outrage and the disgust—he wouldn’t be able to keep going. He wouldn’t be able to tell him what he needed to know.

So he didn’t see how Akechi went from leaning forward on his arms, frowning, searching Ren’s face; to sitting perfectly straight and stiff, his eyes gleaming with a terrible fury; to rocked back in his chair, arms folded tight against his chest, gaze raking up and down Ren’s body.

And when Ren finally stopped talking, he didn’t see Akechi look up at the ceiling, chew on his tongue, sigh through his nose.

“You,” he began, broke off, laughed bitterly. “I can’t even say _I can’t believe this_ because _of course._ You’re you. It couldn’t be any other way.”

Ren opened his mouth, and Akechi surged forward, seizing the edge of the table. “ _This_ is what you’ve been agonizing over?” he snapped. “ _This_ is why you won’t look at me?”

“Yes,” Ren replied quietly. “This is why.”

His heart was in his throat, beating erratic and wild, making his head spin; or maybe his head was spinning because he was holding his breath, because he was bracing himself for something. An explosion, an interrogation, an ultimatum.

Akechi’s chair creaked as he stood up, and Ren heard his soft footfalls padding away. He forced himself to loosen his grip on his cup, to flex his aching fingers, a useful distraction from the vise suddenly squeezing his ribs. Was that it, then? Akechi didn’t even have any questions? He didn’t need Ren to clarify or explain before he left?

That train of thought derailed, though, when Akechi came back and resumed his seat. Ren blinked at him, blinked again: he was holding his phone, and a business card.

“What are you doing?”

Akechi shot him a look. “Getting you help,” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

“Wh—”

“Hush. Ah, hello, good morning. How are you?” Akechi smiled. “Believe it or not, I’m fine. But Ren is in crisis—”

Ren opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“—and since the office is closed today—”

The office. Chuichi. _Help_.

“—I wondered if you could give me—” Akechi checked the business card—“Yonehara-san’s cell phone number?”

Akechi tilted his head, glanced at Ren. “Are you having suicidal thoughts?”

Ren attempted a wry smile. “Do suicidal memories count?” Akechi’s features sharpened, so Ren added, “No. No suicidal thoughts.”

“No,” Akechi reported. Then, “Thoughts of harming yourself or others?”

“No.”

“No. ...I see.” Akechi flipped the card over, produced a pen apparently from nowhere, and scribbled on it. “Thank you. I appreciate this. Yes, I will. Goodbye.”

He hung up, peered at the card, started dialing.

“Akechi,” Ren said, “you don’t have to—”

“Yes I do.”

“I can wait until Monday.”

“You’ve waited long enough.”

“I never did this to you,” Ren pointed out. “I never—”

“You should have,” Akechi said, and before Ren could respond, his phone was back at his ear. “Yonehara-san, good morning. My name is Goro Akechi. I’m calling on behalf of my husband, Ren, who is in crisis. I was wondering if he could speak with you sometime today.”

Inch by inch, watching Akechi take over, watching him lift the yoke from Ren’s shoulders, Ren relaxed. He rested his elbows on the table, his chin in his hand, eventually his head on his arms, taking deep, careful breaths to spread the relief, cool as fresh water, across his skin.

Then Akechi said, “Right,” and Ren sat back up.

“She’s going to text you in about an hour,” Akechi said, setting down his phone. “In that text, there’ll be a link to a video chat. You’ll have your first session virtually, and then figure out how often you need to meet going forward. If _daily_ is an option,” he added, with a gleaming edge, “I would take it.”

“Are you really not mad at me?” Ren murmured, studying him.

Akechi shot him a look that stung like a barb. “Let me be clear,” he hissed. “I am _furious_ with you. But not for the reason you think.”

“Then—”

Akechi grabbed Ren’s hand, dragged it closer so he could grip it in both of his own. “I cannot understand,” he said, mostly to Ren’s fingers, to his grinding knuckles, “why you want to be punished for things you haven’t done. You were _always_ like this, and when it stopped I thought you were better, but apparently you’d just run out of excuses. Why?” He met Ren’s gaze, ferocious, forceful, and Ren shivered. “Why are you like this?”

“If I knew,” Ren said, putting his other hand over Akechi’s, “don’t you think I’d have stopped by now?”

“ _Tch_. A question for Yonehara, then.”

“Akechi, I’m s—”

“Unless you’re apologizing for hiding this from me, don’t bother,” Akechi retorted. “Is that what you’re apologizing for?”

Ren managed to smile. “Not just that.”

“Then keep it to yourself. Why didn’t you tell me about this when I asked you?”

The nausea, the reluctance, the fear came surging back, bitter on his tongue, but Akechi was glaring at him so fiercely that he forced himself to talk through it. “I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“I _told you_ ,” Akechi said, “that I could never hate you.”

“I know.”

“Why didn’t you believe me?”

Ren shrugged, effecting nonchalance, but dropped his gaze to their clasped hands all the same. “You didn’t know what I knew.”

“That you’re an idiot,” Akechi grumbled, “who thinks everything is his fault.”

“It _was_ my fault. I—”

Akechi shot to his feet, grabbed the collar of Ren’s shirt. “Come on,” he said, half-dragging him from his chair. “Come here.”

Flailing, Ren caught his balance and let himself be led across the room. “Where are we going?”

Akechi shoved him onto the couch, straddled him, wrapped both arms around him and crushed him against the cushions. He was solid and sturdy and _so warm_ , like a breathing, muscular blanket, and he smelled like coconut shampoo and lavender from that oil he put on his face every morning and their detergent, which was supposed to smell like sunshine but just smelled clean. At first Ren sat there, too shocked to react, but when Akechi said “Hug me _back_ you _idiot_ ,” he did as he was told, fisting both hands in Akechi’s shirt.

Akechi fitted his chin into the crook of Ren’s neck and said, his ribs vibrating on Ren’s, “I don’t forgive you.” Ren’s heart skipped a beat, but Akechi continued: “I don’t have anything to forgive you _for_. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve never done anything wrong. Certainly you’ve never done anything to me that I didn’t want you to do.”

Ren swallowed hard. “Akechi—”

“Don’t call,” Akechi snarled, “me that,” and butted his head against Ren’s jaw, “call me _Goro_.”

Ren redoubled his grip, squeezing until Goro grunted, until Ren could barely breathe for the pressure on his own sternum. “Goro.”

* * *

“Yes,” Goro said, hot against Ren’s ear. “Again.”

“Goro,” Ren said, and Goro rocked his hips forward, making heat curl like fingers at the base of Ren’s spine. “Goro, Goro, Goro—”

“Yes,” Goro chanted, adjusting his angle, and Ren hadn’t realized he was hard but he _was_ and when their clothed erections pressed together he lost track of what he’d been saying, mouth falling open. “Yes, yes, yes. _Again_.”

“Goro,” Ren managed, somehow managing to drag him closer, to press his torso like a brand against his own. “Goro, Go—ro—”

“I love you,” Goro breathed. Ren was floating, anchored only by Goro’s arms looped around him, his body flexing against him, his smooth heat spiking pleasure into Ren’s gut. “I love you, love you, you were made for me, mine—”

“Goro—”

“Made for this,” Goro panted, almost babbling, slipping one hand up to sink his fingers into Ren’s hair and pull, wrenching his head back. “Made for me to fuck you, just like this.”

Ren whimpered, squeezed his eyes shut, bucked his hips. It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t _enough_ , he needed—needed—

But Goro knew what he needed. Didn’t he always? All at once the hand in his hair let go and the arm around his waist unwound, and Ren leaned back to give Goro room to maneuver, to open both of their pants. Ren didn’t even try to help, knew his fingers wouldn’t obey him, just sat there and stared at him, at the flush across his cheeks and the glint of teeth beyond his parted lips and the crease of concentration between his eyebrows. Ren jolted, half with surprise and half with anticipation, when Goro’s hand found his cock, drew it out into the heady air trapped between their bodies; swallowed a moan when Goro’s fingers left him long enough to free his own length. And then Goro’s gaze snapped up to his, eager, hungry, and he closed his hand around both of them, pressing them together.

“Say it,” he ordered. “Say my name.”

“Goro,” Ren keened. He wanted to close his eyes, loll his head back against the couch, but he didn’t dare. Not when Goro was looking at him like that.

“Good,” Goro said. He rolled his hips forward, dragging his length along Ren’s, and Ren felt it like fire traveling up his abdomen. “Again.”

“Goro.”

“Yes.”

“Goro.” Ren clenched his teeth against the next ripple of pleasure, clutching at Goro’s waist, his hips. “Goro, _fuck_ —”

Goro leaned in, pushed his forehead against Ren’s, his breath damp and fluttering on Ren’s lips. “Ren.”

Too slow, it was too slow, it _hurt_ , he needed—he needed—

“ _Ren_.”

“Go—” Ren choked, worked his jaw. “Ro. Please, please.”

“Shh.”

If Ren could have found it in himself to move, he could have forced Goro to pick up the pace; he could have made him give Ren what he wanted. But Ren’s limbs were heavy, weighted down by the electricity leaping from that charged point where their bodies met. Ren writhed, rocked his head from side to side, watching their lengths slide together, watching Goro’s hand move lazily up and down, watching his own head disappear inside Goro’s fist and then reappear as Goro’s fingers traveled along his shaft.

“You’re beautiful,” Goro said, and Ren _saw_ his cock twitch, saw himself react as more heat washed over him, prickling in his hair. “You have no idea—how lucky—”

Ren made a helpless sound, not a moan because he couldn’t find the strength to open his mouth, more of a hum, _mmmm_.

“Can’t believe I get to do this.” How was he still talking? How could he make any noise at all? “Can’t believe I get to make you feel like this.”

“ _Hhh_.”

“What did I do, hm? To deserve you?”

Something in Ren, something buried under multiple layers of arousal, reacted violently to that; he dug his nails into Goro’s skin, and Goro laughed.

“You want to come?”

Ren’s spine stiffened; his toes curled; precum spurted over Goro’s wrist.

“You have to say my name first.”

 _Can’t_ , Ren tried to say, but all that came out was a grunt. His voice had left him, his throat had closed, he couldn’t speak, his head too full of haze and his nose too full of Goro’s scent, of sweat and musk and sex.

“Ren,” Goro growled, a deep, overpowering rumble that made Ren’s head flop backward, exposing his throat. “ _Ren_. Say it.” He _squeezed_ , and Ren choked a sound like a sob. “ _Say it_.”

Ren tried. His throat clicked, caught; he exhaled a moan.

“So close,” Goro said, licking his neck. “So close. Come on.”

“ _Mnh_.”

“Come on, Ren, come on.”

Ren dragged at his hips, urging him to speed up, to finish it, _please just finish it_ , but Goro gave no indication he’d noticed. “Ren,” he said, right in Ren’s ear, filling his skull, adding a delicious shiver to the tremors radiating from the knot in his abdomen. “Ren, I want to let you come, but you have to say my name. I know you can.” A wet, lewd sound as Goro fastened his lips to the soft spot under Ren’s ear and suckled. “I want you to.”

Ren hummed again, _mmmngh_ , and forced his eyes open, forced himself to look down past the curve of Goro’s shoulder at Goro’s hand shining with precum, at their flushed members, at his own balls straining.

“Want to hear it,” Goro murmured, finally hoarse, finally as close to the edge as Ren was. “You’re the only one. The only one, ever. Like this. Ever. Ren, I need—”

Ren slid his hands up Goro’s sides, clenched his fists in his shirt, pressed his knuckles into his ribs. “Trying,” he managed. “I’m trying.”

Goro snapped his hips forward, ripping a cry from Ren’s chest. “I need it,” he said. “I need it. Say it.”

“ _Hgk_ ,” Ren said, and then another shudder crashed over him and shook him so hard that his mouth opened in a soundless wail, that spittle ran down his chin. _He was so close_. But he couldn’t, until he—until Goro let—until he said—

“So good, you’re so good, so good for me, all mine, let me make you come—”

 _Goro. Goro, Goro, Goro_ — “ _Goro_ —!”

Goro moved, and Ren didn’t understand what was happening until it was almost over: until Goro was kneeling between his thighs, until his mouth was sliding over Ren’s length, until Ren barked a noise that tore his throat, his back arching, his hands fumbling at nothing until they found Goro’s hair and tangled in it.

It seemed to take forever for the mindless, whirling tumult of heat and light in his skin to subside, for his hips to stop pumping, for his grasp to slacken and his body to descend, limp and soaked, back to the couch.

* * *

Goro pressed his face into Ren’s leg, his breathing shallow and ragged, his lips very wet against the fabric of Ren’s pants. Ren smoothed his palm across Goro’s scalp, gently tucking his damp hair behind his ears.

“Did you,” Ren croaked.

“Mmhm,” Goro murmured, holding up a closed fist.

“Okay.” Ren leaned back and shut his eyes, still stroking Goro’s hair. “Good.”

After a while, Goro said, “We should probably shower.”

“Mmmm. Together?”

Goro elbowed his knee. “You still have therapy later.”

“Right, right. And then we’ll shower together?”

Goro snorted. “You’re insatiable.”

“Hey,” Ren said, looking down at him, and paused. “Actually, go wash your hands first.”

Raising his eyebrows, Goro got up and shuffled off to the kitchen. While he was gone, Ren straightened his clothes; and when Goro got back, he was considerably better put-together, too. Ren pulled him back into his lap and hugged him again, burying his face in Goro’s shoulder.

“You’re not angry?” he mumbled.

Goro cupped the back of his neck, massaged the spot where his skull met his spine. “No. I’m not.”

And Ren still didn’t believe him. Not entirely. But that was a question for Yonehara. For now, Ren said, “Okay,” and held on tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dustwallow (@lacedust on twitter) drew adorable fanart for this fic and I am eternally grateful and thrilled!!! look upon it and shower them with praise: 
> 
> [maya and sai](https://twitter.com/lacedust/status/1322297746968219648?s=20)   
>  [sai and akechi circa ch.2](https://twitter.com/lacedust/status/1322297794095386624?s=20)
> 
> I’ve always felt that, in Royal’s bad end, Ren and Akechi are at least somewhat aware that they’re being puppeted; that they hate it; and that it can only end badly. (This is actually a pretty common interpretation.) If any of you shared that headcanon, I didn’t want you to realize (or be able to confirm) just how badly things ended until Ren was ready to tell somebody. So I played it really close to the vest. Hopefully it doesn’t feel like it came out of left field. The suggestion is there; Ren is just very good at obfuscating, and I deliberately withheld his perspective from you so he wouldn’t give away the game.
> 
> this has been “frockbot talks too much about her own writing,” please tip your server and have a good night
> 
> also important disclaimer the phrase “that was the word he used, delighted” was written Long Long Ago and is genuinely Not a reference to any other fan fictions on this web site; however you may of course interpret it however you choose


	21. Heavy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** blood, gore, references to suicide (in a dream)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioMByL8KtBk)
> 
> [_The only way to lose that fearful feeling_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioMByL8KtBk)
> 
> [
> 
> _Replace it with love that’s healing_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ioMByL8KtBk)

“Joker?”

Ren looked up from pouring hot water through an empty filter. “Huh?”

Goro sat across the bar from him, his elbow propped on the counter, his head tipped against his knuckles. His eyes seemed strangely sharp, like the rest of Leblanc was dialed slightly out of focus and Goro’s gaze was the only clear point on the lens.

“ _Joker_ ,” he repeated.

Ren was still pouring an impossibly long stream of water. Somehow, that didn’t seem to matter, just like it didn’t matter that there were no grounds in the filter. That Goro was wearing his winter coat in June. That he had on his gloves, even though he hadn’t worn those in…weeks months years.

Curling his lip, Goro looked away. “Tch. You’re never here when I need you.”

“What do you mean?” Ren asked, setting down the kettle. He reached across, brushed Goro’s wrist. “I’m always here for you.”

Goro jerked his arm back. “ _That_ is what I mean,” he spat. “That simpering, that _groveling_ , it’s not you. It’s disgusting. This whole farce is disgusting. I can’t believe Maruki thinks this is what we want.”

That name, _Maruki_ , pierced Ren’s brain. Wincing, he put his hand to his forehead—but then the pain was gone, and the name was gone, slipping out his other ear. “Did you get enough sleep last night? You seem tense.”

Goro shot him an ugly smile, a _grin_ , ear to ear and full of teeth. “Do I?” he purred. “Do I seem tense? How strange. I can’t imagine why that would be.”

Ren returned the smile without meaning to, without thinking about it, but his was smaller, friendlier. More coy than homicidal. “I mean, I did keep you up pretty late.”

“Is it rape,” Goro asked the empty café, “if you don’t know you don’t want it?” Ren didn’t realize it yet, but this question stuck, and lodged, and festered, like a rancid splinter in his gut. “Probably not.”

There was no good response to that, so Ren’s brain tried to switch gears and carry him down a different track. But a thick, viscous scarlet _something_ suddenly dribbling down Goro’s face distracted him.

“Goro,” he said, transfixed. “You’re bleeding.”

Raising his eyebrows, Goro touched the trail, which had now traced his nostril and the corner of his mouth and was beginning to drip onto his coat. He wouldn’t be happy about that. He loved that coat.

“Hm,” Goro said, examining his fingertips. “So I am.”

“What—happened?” But Ren’s tongue felt thick and heavy; his mouth was slick; his nose burned. “Are you—okay?”

Goro glanced at him. This time, when he smiled, it was positively _lethal_. “Oh, does this bother you?” he asked. Another trickle of blood joined the first, coursing down the other side of his nose. “It shouldn’t. This is what I wanted. What _you_ wanted.”

Ren’s head spun. He caught the edge of the counter. “What—”

Akechi tipped his head back and slammed the heel of his hand against his forehead. _Something_ fell away and hit the ground behind him with a wet _plap_ , and Ren had a feeling he knew what it was but he didn’t want to think about it. And he didn’t have to, because Akechi was reaching around, screwing up his face as he probed the back of his—maybe not his skull, exactly. When he found what he was looking for, he smiled again.

He held up a small, oblong object, and Ren leaned forward to see it better. It was shiny, coated in a fluid so dark it was almost black, squashed on one end and rounded on the—

Ren froze, and Akechi laughed. “It doesn’t make any sense for it to still be in there,” he said, tossing the crushed bullet on the bar. “You spattered my brain across the room. The bullet would still be upstairs, in the attic. Stuck to the floor.”

Akechi reached forward as if to tuck Ren’s hair behind his ear, but his fingers sank instead into an eerily cold patch on the side of Ren’s head. Ren _heard_ the squelch.

“I see you took my advice,” Akechi added, withdrawing, rubbing his glistening fingertips together. “Through the side of the head at an angle, to cause the maximum amount of damage and guarantee death.”

Saliva flooded Ren’s mouth; his stomach seized, threatening to fling his dinner (what dinner? When had he eaten?) into Akechi’s smiling, bloody face.

“Ren,” Akechi said. “You’re dreaming.”

Ren woke up shaking, his teeth fused together, his hands fisted so tightly in the sheets that his fingers had gone numb. Beside him, lit by the warm glow from a bedside lamp, Akechi was sitting up, gripping Ren’s shoulder, watching him through eyes ringed by dark circles.

“It’s all right,” Akechi said. “You’re all right.”

Somehow Ren managed to pry his jaws apart, to breathe in, two, three, four; out, two, three, four. One by one, he uncurled his fingers; lifted his hand to cover Akechi’s, hot against his own clammy skin.

“Do you need the bucket?” Akechi asked.

 _The bucket_ had been their constant companion when Akechi was going through his first couple of years of therapy. It was easier, they’d discovered, to lean out of bed and hurl than to try to make it to the bathroom. Nowadays it was Ren’s best friend and worst enemy. Thankfully, figuring out whether or not he needed to throw up distracted him from _why_ he might need to throw up, which went a long way to easing his nausea.

“No,” he croaked. Another shudder rippled across his body, wrenching every muscle painfully taut. “I—”

“Do you need water?”

“In—a minute. When I can—sit up.”

Akechi nodded, and waited, idly stroking Ren’s shoulder with his thumb. With his other hand, he pushed Ren’s hair off his forehead, wiping away the sweat collected there and at his temples.

It took a long time for the trembling to stop. Once it did, Ren sank into the mattress, shutting his eyes, and listened to his own breathing and his own heartbeat.

“Water now?”

Nodding, Ren got his elbows underneath him and levered himself up. By the time he’d settled back against the headboard, Akechi had filled a glass from the pitcher beside the bed. He pressed it into Ren’s hands. Ren took small, careful sips, savoring the cool rush in his raw throat.

Meanwhile, Akechi scooted over so their hips were touching, so Ren could lean into him if he wanted to, and scrolled on his phone. He probably wasn’t looking at anything of interest, but Ren didn’t like to be stared at when he was coming down from a nightmare, and Akechi knew it.

Ren did, however, like to stare at his husband while he came down, at his profile alternately gold and blue from the bedside light and his phone’s screen, at his lips pinched with worry and his hair rumpled where he’d slept on it funny.

“I don’t know why you didn’t think you’d be good at this,” Ren murmured. “You take great care of me.”

 _I need you to be patient with me_ , Akechi had told him, very seriously, after Ren’s first session with Yonehara. Akechi had spent that hour on the phone with Chuichi, and came to the table with a speech prepared. _I know you need me the way I needed you and I want to do that for you, but it doesn’t come as naturally to me. If you need something, you have to tell me what it is. And if I ask you, you have to answer honestly. That’s the only way this is going to work_.

So far, it did work. Akechi was a master at calming Ren down post-nightmare. And Ren only felt teeny, tiny twinges of guilt for being such a burden. ( _You’re doing it again_ , said Yonehara’s voice in his head, precise and waspish. _Why are you a burden, but no one else is?_ )

Akechi glanced at him. “Feeling better?”

“Mm.” Ren put down his empty glass. “Ready to lie down again, anyway.”

Nodding, Akechi set his phone aside and switched the light off. Ren lay down on his back, clasping his hands on his stomach, staring at the ceiling. Akechi stretched out on his side, close enough to touch, the gleam of his eyes just visible in the dark.

After a moment, Ren said, “At least we’re even now.”

A faint rustling as Akechi shifted position. “What do you mean?”

“You shot me,” Ren replied, tracking the path of a crack across the ceiling. “I shot you. We’re even.”

Silence. Then, “It’s not a competition.”

“I know.”

“Besides, as you always say, I didn’t shoot _you_.” A hook lodged in Ren’s gut and dragged, pulling down the corners of his mouth, but Akechi added, “And you didn’t shoot me, either.”

“Yes I did,” Ren said, breathless. “I remember. I—”

“ _I_ don’t. I’m right here. I’m fine.”

They’d had this conversation in reverse a hundred times. The cascading memories of all those nights he’d spent clutching Akechi close, repeating _I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine_ until he started to believe it or until he got too tired to argue, made Ren’s throat ache.

“I wish I could get that through your impenetrable skull,” Akechi added.

Ren coughed a laugh. “Now you know how I felt.”

“And you know how I did. But I never wanted you to.” Akechi’s gaze bored into the side of Ren’s head. “Whatever I might have said, then or—then.”

“You wanted me to kill you,” Ren murmured. He’d said it out loud often enough that it caused only a brief flicker of pressure on his heart. “And I wanted to die, so we were in agreement.”

Akechi didn’t usually engage with this line of conversation, but tonight he said, “I told you that? I said that?”

“You said, _The only way out is to die. If there’s even a way out at all_.”

“That sounds like something I’d say,” he muttered.

“You told me what we needed,” Ren said. Once he started, he couldn’t stop. “What kind of gun, what kind of bullets. How to get them. We had to—we weren’t ever conscious at the same time, so I’d ask and you’d answer later. It took forever.”

“And why,” Akechi asked, “didn’t I just do it myself?”

Ren stopped.

“What?”

“If I knew what I had to do, why did I tell you about it at all?”

Ren’s brow knitted. “I don’t know,” he said. It was a good question, so there had to be an answer. “I don’t have all the memories. I don’t—”

“I could have just killed myself,” Akechi pointed out, almost patronizing, like they were debating a logic problem. “You didn’t have to be involved. Or if I wanted revenge, I could have killed you, and then me. Maruki would have brought us back, of course—he probably still did—but I could have tried. I didn’t have to bring you along with me. I didn’t have to give you a way out.”

Ren looked at him then, a yearning suspiciously like _hope_ dawning in his chest. “You were doing me a favor.”

“I wouldn’t have thought about it that way.” Akechi tilted his chin up, his eyes shrewd and calculating. “I would have thought I was taking what I was owed. But yes. You knew I was suffering, and I could tell _you_ were suffering, so I gave you a way to save me and then yourself.”

Ren’s throat closed; his chest constricted. “I hope that’s true,” he whispered. “I hope—”

“Of course it is,” Akechi said simply. He shook his sleeve down so he could wipe Ren’s cheek with it, a soft, tender sweep. “Who would know better than me?”

***

“Finally,” Maya gasped as they rounded the corner toward the house. “My ears are gonna fall off.”

“I told you to wear your scarf,” Akechi said, muffled by his own.

“I don’t like it,” she countered, an echo of the argument they’d had this morning. “Why do we have to walk everywhere, anyway? Why don’t you guys have a car?”

“It’s wasteful,” Ren replied, adjusting his grip on Sai. She was bundled up inside his coat, her cheek resting on his collarbone, keeping him as warm as he was keeping her. “The subway’s perfectly fine.”

“Yeah, but then we have to walk back from the station!”

Maya hopped from one foot to the other while Akechi took out his keys. He was being purposefully slow, making a point, so Ren kicked him in the back of the shin. Akechi glared at him, and Ren glared back: _Make your point later, when I’m not frostbitten_.

Morgana was waiting on the genkan when they came in, but his greeting was swallowed up by the rush of wind that accompanied them. “ _Brrrr_!” he squawked, shaking himself. “It’s cold out there!”

“I can’t feel my face,” Maya announced, patting it.

“I told you,” Akechi said, shutting the door with a _clack_ , “to wear your—”

“She knows full well why she’s cold,” Ren said, unbundling Sai. “Shoes off, please.”

“Shoes off, please!” she chirped, plopping down to obey.

“Well, _next time_ , she should wear her scarf.”

“I hate my scarf.”

“You do not hate your scarf.”

“Yes I do. It tickles my ears.”

“Then you’ll just have to be cold,” said Ren. He crouched down to help Sai out of her coat. “And Akechi will have to relax.”

Akechi sputtered. “ _Me_? But she—”

“We should make hot chocolate,” Maya said, scampering away. “I’ll start the milk!”

“Be careful,” Ren called. Akechi _hmph_ ed.

“Hi, Mona,” Sai said, as Morgana rubbed his face on her shoulder. “Nice kitty.”

“You know, Sai, you’re going to be three in a couple of months,” Ren said, straightening up. “Do you want a party?”

She beamed. “Yeah! With streamers!”

Sighing, Akechi took their coats. “ _I_ don’t want a party.”

“Sure you do,” Ren said. “You like parties.”

“I like quiet, dignified affairs.”

“There’s no such thing as a _quiet, dignified affair_ with kids.”

“Or with you, I’ve discovered,” Akechi muttered, closing the closet door.

Ren pinched his rosy cheek. “Just one of my many charms.”

Once the hot chocolate had been made—with _real_ chocolate, because Ren held all powdered liquids in contempt—they all sat down at the chabudai with it. Sai had hers, lukewarm instead of hot, in a sippy cup, along with a little bowl of mini marshmallows.

“When shall we start that book?” Akechi asked Maya, blowing on his cup.

“What book?” Morgana asked, through a mouthful of marshmallow that Ren hadn’t seen Sai feed him. She was as sneaky as her sister, sometimes.

“Another one by the same author as _Dogstar_ ,” Maya replied, leaning forward. “It’s about this girl who gets turned into an old lady…”

Ren typed into the Persona users groupchat: _Sai turns 3 on February 2. So far she’s requested streamers at her party. Other ideas?_

A debate immediately erupted: _It’s not even Christmas and you’re already thinking about February?_ versus _It’s never too early to start thinking about birthdays_! versus _Oh my GOD Sai’s turning THREE!_ Grinning, Ren switched off his screen.

Morgana was wrinkling his nose. “Isn’t there a movie like that?”

“There is,” said Akechi. “It’s not as good as the book.”

Ren froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. “Do not _ever_ let Futaba hear you say that.”

“Wait,” Maya said. “Have you read this book before?”

“No,” Akechi said.

“Then how do you know the movie’s not as good?”

Akechi shrugged. “They never are.”

“I wanna watch it,” Sai said.

“We will,” Ren assured her. “Once Akechi and Maya are done reading the book.”

“Can I read it too?”

Maya tensed, and Ren said, “How about if I read it to you?” knowing full well she’d lose interest two pages in.

Sai beamed. “Kay.”

“Hey, so,” Maya said, setting down her empty cup, “I have a question.”

Ren blinked. Akechi raised his eyebrows. “Yes?”

She eyed them from underneath her bangs (which were getting sort of unruly, actually; maybe Ren should offer to cut them). “You guys had codenames,” she said, “in the Metaverse. Right?”

“Right,” Ren said, shaken back to reality.

“Well.” Maya shifted, going from kneeling to sitting with her legs crossed. “I’ve been to the Metaverse now. And I have a Persona.”

Akechi glanced at Morgana. “Have you been—”

“No!” Morgana protested. “I haven’t said anything!”

“I just want to know,” Maya said, raising her voice, “what my codename would be.”

“Oh,” Akechi said.

“Huh,” Morgana said.

Ren leaned back against the couch, studying her.

“You don’t have an outfit, so it’s tricky,” Morgana mused, swishing his tail. “Almost everybody else is named for their costume. Fox, Skull, Panther…”

“I’m not,” Akechi pointed out. “In fact, those of us who _aren’t_ named for our costumes far outnumber—”

“All right, all right, so what do you think she should be called?”

Akechi opened his mouth, and Ren said, “Magpie.”

They all looked at him, Maya bright and keen.

“ _Magpie_?” Morgana said. “Like the bird?”

“Yes,” Ren replied, holding Maya’s glittering gaze. “It’s a member of the corvid family, but not directly related to the crow. It’s considered one of the smartest birds in the world. They can use tools, and solve problems, and even mimic humans. They’re fiercely loyal and move in flocks. And they’re adaptable—they live everywhere, under every circumstance.”

He could feel Akechi watching him. Maya lifted her chin.

“I like that,” she said. “Magpie.”

“Joker’s always been the best at this,” Morgana said proudly.

“Do you still want to be Joker?” Akechi asked.

Ren paused. Morgana bristled again. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“He might have some negative associations with that name,” Akechi said smoothly, “considering Kubo’s Persona.”

Morgana deflated. “Oh, yeah…”

“If you were to choose a new codename, what would it be?”

“Rook,” Ren said, knowing as he said it that it was right. He was Rook. Maybe he’d always been.

“Like the chess piece?” Maya asked.

“Like the bird,” Akechi said.

Ren smirked, and shrugged. “It works on both levels.”

“I wanna codename,” Sai said, bouncing on her zabuton.

“You don’t need one,” Maya told her. “You don’t have a Persona.”

Sai swelled with indignation. “You don’t know! I might!”

“You can be Bluejay,” Ren said. “They’re related to crows, too.”

Sai lit up. “See?” she said to Maya, smugly. “I’m Bluejay.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Magpies are cooler.”

“They are not!”

Morgana took advantage of the ensuing scuffle to snatch a few more marshmallows, and Akechi took advantage to lean over and kiss Ren’s temple. Ren caught him and held him there, just for a moment, with gentle fingers against the back of his neck.

***

That night’s bad movie, after Morgana and the girls were in bed, was an old, cheesy samurai film that actually hooked Ren and Akechi within the first twenty minutes. The dialogue was awful, the plot and characters paper-thin, but someone with real skill had been responsible for the choreography. Every fight had Ren wishing he had an excuse to take notes. He even texted the Phantom Thieves about it. Makoto had seen it already, of course, and been less than impressed; but Yusuke, Futaba, Ryuji, and Haru hadn’t, and were immediately intrigued.

The final battle was raging, flowing seamlessly between three different characters, when Morgana came skidding into the room.

“Hey,” he panted, tail bottlebrush. “You’d better come—Sai’s upset—”

It was worse than that. She was curled into the tiniest, tightest ball Ren had ever seen, face pushed against the mattress and both arms clasped around her head. She was trembling so violently that the crib rail rattled. Ren reached her first, lowered the rail, touched her shoulder. The way she flinched, like he’d _hit_ her, took his breath away.

“Sai,” he said. “Sai-chan. I’m going to pick you up, okay?”

Somehow she managed to tense, to indicate dissent, but Ren did it anyway. He gathered her to his chest and sat down on the nightstand, smoothing one hand up and down her shaking back. She didn’t feel feverish, didn’t seem to be in any physical pain. She was just…shaking, and so _quiet_ , and Ren wished she would cry or whimper or _something_ , because the silence was scarier than anything else.

Dimly, through the blood rushing in his ears, Ren heard Akechi ask, “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” Morgana cried. “She was asleep, and I was asleep, and then I woke up because she was shaking…”

Ren lowered his head, massaged the back of her neck. “Sai, can you talk to me?” he asked, into her ear, into her hair, into whatever he could reach with her knotted so tightly. “What happened? Do you feel sick?”

She gulped, twitched her head to the right, to the left. _No_.

Ren breathed out a lungful of anxiety. “Are you hurt? Did you hurt yourself?”

 _No_.

Okay. Getting better. Ren let his grip slacken, gave his heart a moment to stop pounding. “Did you have a nightmare?”

She hiccupped, uncoiled, locked her limbs around his torso and burrowed her face into his chest. Ren’s heart hurt.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, closing his eyes, kissing her hair. “You’re okay.”

With a sickening jolt, he realized she was crying now, silently; a warm dampness was spreading across the front of his shirt. His own eyes stung. “Shh,” he said, kneading her trembling spine. “I’m right here. It’s okay.”

It seemed to take forever for her to calm down, and it happened in fits and starts, with plenty of backsliding. Every time she stopped shaking and Ren leaned away to look at her, she would tighten her grip and quake again. Several minutes passed before she finally stopped for good. Even then, when Ren wiped her tears and tried to get her to talk, she stared through him with glazed, vacant eyes. She only started to come back to herself when first Morgana and then Akechi joined them, Morgana stepping into her lap and Akechi smoothing her hair out of her face. It was wet; she was flushed and sweaty, like she’d been running a fever, now broken.

“Couldn’t find you,” she mumbled, blinking up at Ren through puffy eyes. Her lip wobbled. “Couldn’t—”

“I’m here, my dove,” Ren said, cupping her face in his hands. Morgana ratcheted up his purr. “I’ll always be here.”

Which was a lie. She knew that better than anyone. A fresh wave of tears washed down her cheeks. Ren wiped them away with his thumbs, searching for the strength to speak through the crushing pain in his chest, his throat.

“You want to sleep with us tonight?” he managed at last. She sniffled, nodded. “Okay. C’mon.”

Morgana hopped down as Ren stood up, cradling Sai to his shoulder. Akechi fell into step beside him.

“I rang Hinata,” he said quietly. “She said it’d be a good idea for her to come in tomorrow. She can see her at noon.”

“All right,” Ren murmured. “I’ll go in with her.”

Sai let herself be settled in the middle of the bed, and sat there with Morgana and Akechi while Ren hastily changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth. As soon as Ren slipped under the covers, Sai snuggled in close, clutching the front of his shirt, still staring unsettlingly at nothing. Morgana curled up in the space behind her knees, and Akechi, once he’d finished his own bedtime routine, lay down and put his arms around Ren so that she was cocooned between them.

They lay there together, Ren absently stroking Sai’s cheek, her hair, her arm; Morgana purring like a motor; Akechi tracing circles into Ren’s shoulderblades, breathing deep and even. After another eternity, Sai’s eyes drifted shut, and her breathing slowed, and she fell asleep.

“Fuck Kubo,” Ren said, studying Sai’s face, still raw from crying. “This is his fault.”

“If I ever see him again, I’ll kill him,” Akechi said, without a trace of malice. He might as well have said he was going to pick up ice cream at the store.

“You’ll have to get in line,” Ren whispered.

Ren had hated people before. He had _loathed_ people before. He’d loathed Shido, Okumura, Madarame, Kamoshida; he’d loathed the people who’d accused Futaba of driving her mother to suicide; he’d loathed Futaba’s uncle when he’d come slithering around looking for money. He was pretty sure he hated Adachi, or would, if he ever met him. But he had never hated anyone so much that he wanted to kill them. Hurt them? Sure. Change their heart? Yes. But not kill. He understood the impulse, didn’t judge anyone for it, but he’d never gone there himself.

Until now.

It wasn’t even vengeance, really. Ren didn’t care about what Kubo had done to _him_ , at least not on any level that he associated with Kubo as a person. He was traumatized, sure; he would be dealing with the fallout for years, possibly forever; but that was all bound up in itself, a white-hot ball of suffering that had to be untangled strand by strand. There was no point hating Kubo for hurting him.

But he could hate him, did hate him, would hate him, every minute of every day, for hurting his family. For making Sojiro go through the motions of sending him to the afterlife. For showing Yu, Sumire, Makoto, and Ryuji his broken body. For ripping him away from Futaba, Yusuke, Morgana, Haru, and Ann, and leaving bloody gouges in his wake.

For making Akechi grieve.

And, most of all, for terrifying, mortifying, traumatizing _his daughters_ , who had been through enough for a lifetime; who already knew how cruel the world could be and didn’t need any more proof; who had barely begun to feel safe before Kubo came crashing into their lives.

Ren had been able to protect them from physical harm, and he’d do it again as many times as he had to, but he couldn’t save them from fear or grief or loss. He hated Kubo for reminding him of that. He hated Kubo for reminding _them_ that no matter how much they loved someone, there was always the chance that they would disappear.

“Ren,” Akechi said quietly. “Don’t squeeze so hard. You’ll wake her up.”

Ren caught his breath, consciously loosened his grip.

“You’re trembling.”

“I hate him,” Ren breathed. He couldn’t stop looking at Sai; couldn’t stop searching for some indication that she’d be all right, that she could move past this. “God, Akechi. If I knew where he was right now—”

“We’d do it together,” Akechi replied, oath, promise.

“Don’t forget me,” Morgana said. His eyes shone eerily yellow in the dark. “If you guys took him out without me, I wouldn’t forgive you.”

“It’d be the three of us, then,” Ren said. He almost didn’t recognize his own voice, the venom in it. Akechi brushed his knuckles across his jaw. “We’d finish it.”

***

That year, the Phantom Thieves scheduled their Christmas/End-of-Year Celebration for the weekend before Christmas Eve. It was Ryuji and Ann’s turn to host, so Akechi, Ren, Maya, Morgana, and Sai piled in on them a couple of hours before everyone else was due to arrive.

“Ugh, thank you for coming over early,” Ann said. She’d clearly been sidetracked halfway through getting dressed: she wore a sparkly red top with a matching choker and bangles at her wrists, but under that was a pair of old, stained sweatpants and socks with holes in the toes. She accepted Akechi’s hug, caught sight of Ren, and bristled. “ _Ren_! I told you not to bring anything!”

“And you expected him to listen?” Akechi muttered.

“You expected me to listen?” Ren echoed, grinning. He was balancing three containers in his arms, and Maya had two more in hers.

“What is all that?” Ann asked, exasperated.

“Onigiri,” Maya reported, indicating one of her containers. “Kare pan. Gyoza. Miso. And cake.”

“Kare pan?” Suzume cried, appearing at their feet. “I love kare pan!”

“Me too!” said Sai.

“Coat, coat,” Akechi fussed, catching her before she could run off. “Take off your coat.”

“Why’re we all standin’ around?” Ryuji asked, popping up over Ann’s shoulder. “Aw, man, look at you, showin’ off—”

“My arms are getting tired,” Maya said.

“C’mon,” Ryuji sighed. “Kitchen’s this way.”

In his everyday life, mostly thanks to Akechi, Ren consented to routine. There was a certain amount of comfort in knowing what to expect each day of the week. But days like this, fewer and farther between the older he got, were the ones he really enjoyed. Ryuji and Ann’s house was barely controlled chaos at the best of times, today even moreso. Mei, Suzume, Sai, and Uta were constantly underfoot, despite Ann, Akechi, and Morgana’s efforts to corral them. Ryuji, self-appointed chef, kept losing track of what he was doing (especially with fire, and knives) and had to be rescued by Ren or Maya. Ann was torn between making sure the house was clean (it wasn’t, and never would be; they had _three kids_ , after all; but try telling her that) and making sure she was ready (she wasn’t, at least until ten minutes before everyone else was supposed to get there, at which point she emerged from the bathroom fully clothed and perfect like a butterfly from a chrysalis).

Ren was at the top of his game, redirecting small children, flitting from pan to pot to sink to counter, snagging plates and platters and glasses like he lived there himself. Maya was right behind him the entire time, taking up the baton whenever he passed it.

By the time the doorbell rang, Ren couldn’t have told you how they’d done it, but they’d done it: the rice, noodles, and tamagoyaki were ready; the gyoza and miso were heated up; the utensils and plates and bowls were prepped. Ryuji disappeared to change into something “more festive,” as he called it, and was replaced by Haru, ten minutes early as always.

“Oh _Ren_ ,” she said, setting down her sushi platter. “You’ve outdone yourself again!”

“Maya helped,” Ren said, squeezing Maya’s shoulder, and bent so Haru could kiss his cheek. “She made the onigiri. Nothing else would’ve gotten done without her, either.”

“Can I give you a hug?” Haru asked Maya. Maya went pink, but nodded, and awkwardly patted Haru’s back until she let go.

The rest of them made similar comments:

“You couldn’t resist, could you,” Makoto said.

“You made kare pan!” Sumire said. “That must have taken hours!”

“You _would_ insist upon feeding all of us,” Yusuke murmured.

“You’re such a show-off,” Futaba said, punching his arm. And then she rounded on Maya and added, “Did we tell you about the time he jumped through a window?”

Maya’s eyes went huge. “No, you didn’t!”

“Well, he did. A stained glass window.”

“A masterpiece,” Yusuke said mournfully. “Its destruction was a tragedy.”

“It wasn’t real, dude,” Ryuji said, ladling some ramen (Futaba’s contribution) into his bowl. “It was in the Metaverse.”

“And it would have disappeared anyway,” Makoto said primly, “once Sae’s Palace did.”

“Tell the story!” Maya ordered. “What happened?”

Ren, settling next to Akechi, let the others handle it, bouncing the details between themselves like a beach ball. Akechi waved off every attempt to engage him; he seemed content, like Ren and Sumire, to hear everyone else’s take on the experience.

They were careful to skirt the precise details of why and how things eventually went sideways. (Even Ryuji was on his best behavior, give or take a couple of well-placed elbows.) It was enough to say that the cops had invaded the Palace without mentioning _who_ had orchestrated the invasion.

Maya glared at Ren like he’d let her down. “You got _caught_?” she demanded. “ _Why_?”

“All according to plan,” he replied, smirking.

“Plan? What plan?”

“Good thing you’re sittin’ down,” Ryuji replied, with the sort of grin he’d probably worn back then. “You ready for... _the twist_?”

“ _What twist_?”

“We knew they were onto us from the start,” Futaba said through a mouthful of soba. “So we tricked ‘em.”

“We faked his death,” Morgana said.

Akechi put his hand on Ren’s shoulder, squeezed once, and got up, heading for the kitchen. Ren gave him a few seconds’ head start before he followed.

Akechi was rinsing his bowl in the sink when Ren slipped up behind him. “You okay?”

Akechi raised his eyebrows at him. “Yes. That’s what the squeeze meant.”

“I know,” Ren said, sliding his arms around Akechi’s waist, propping his chin on his shoulder. “I just wanted to make sure.”

Akechi flicked water in his face. “I’m fine. Don’t you think they’ll notice both of us disappearing at once?”

“Nah, they’re used to me following you around. Or they should be, by now.”

“I _meant_ , isn’t it rather suspicious that we both left the room at the most upsetting point in the story?”

“So you admit that it’s upsetting.”

Akechi turned around, rested his damp hands on Ren’s hips. “Are you upset?”

“No,” Ren replied honestly, searching his expression. “And you’re not either?”

Akechi cocked his head, guileless and frank. “No.”

“Good,” Ren said, and pinched his ass.

Akechi yelped, flushed, lunged for him.

“Too slow, Detective,” Ren sang, dancing easily out of reach. “Better luck next time.”

“I know where you live, _Rook_ ,” Akechi growled, throwing a dish towel at him. “Savor your freedom while you can.”

***

The party broke up, with much hugging and lamenting, around midnight. Mei, Suzume, and Uta had been put to bed hours ago. Sai had fallen asleep on the couch with Maya not long afterward, and Ren had snuck a picture of the two of them cuddled up together. Now, Ren roused Maya and Akechi picked Sai up, and they and Morgana headed home.

Akechi immediately carried Sai off to her bedroom, with Morgana on his heels. Ren, juggling the empty dishes, gave Maya a nudge. “Pajamas, bed,” he said.

“Whaboutteeth?” she mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Ren managed to suppress his smile. “Don’t worry about that.”

She squinted at him. “Why not?”

“Because you’re tired.”

“M’not tired.”

“Pajamas,” Ren said. “Bed.”

Sighing through her nose, she shambled down the hallway toward her room. Ren went to put the containers away.

He was heading to the hall closet, undoing the buttons on his coat, when Maya reappeared, wide awake.

“What’s the matter?” Ren asked, stopping.

“Nothing,” she said, an obvious lie. Her cheeks were sallow. “I just wanted to know...how many times have you almost died?”

Ren stared at her for so long that her eyes flashed.

“How many _times_ ,” she repeated, lifting her chin.

He opened his mouth, closed it. Looked down at his coat, finished undoing it, slipped it off. Unwrapped his scarf. Toed off his shoes. Considered.

She let him step past her to stow his things in the closet, but he felt her gaze on him the entire time. At last, shutting the closet door, he put his hands in his pockets and turned around.

“That depends on your definition of dying,” he said.

Maya’s nostrils flared.

“So what is it?” Ren asked, rocking his hips to one side. “Your definition.”

She could have stared a hole through his skull. “Why are you asking _me_? You should know. You’re the one who did it.”

“Died, or survived?”

“ _Both_.”

“What’s happening here?” asked Akechi, coming down the hall toward them. “Maya, what’s wrong?”

“You too,” Maya snapped, spinning on her heel. “How many times have _you_ almost died?”

Akechi went smooth and blank as a block of marble, and Maya scoffed with something like triumph. “I knew it! I knew there were holes in that story. You guys still aren’t telling me everything—”

“Four times,” said Ren. “Give or take. Akechi?”

Akechi glanced at him. “Eight,” he said quietly.

Whatever Maya had wanted to hear—and Ren suspected there was no answer that would have satisfied her—that was not it. For a moment, she was luminous, lit from within by a flowing magma that seemed to suffuse her fingertips and the tips of her ears. But then, just as quickly, the light faded, and the rage passed, and she wilted. Ren had never realized how small she was until this moment, until she stopped projecting herself an extra six feet outside her own body.

“It’s never going to stop, is it,” she said.

Ren frowned. “What’s never—?”

“This,” Maya said, gesturing vaguely. “You guys. Getting hurt. Dying or almost. Is it?”

Ren shook his head as if to rattle his brain back into place. “What—”

“It just figures,” Maya muttered, looking away. “Of _course_ we’d get adopted by people like you. Of course _._ Our lives weren’t complicated enough.”

A frozen pickaxe smashed through Ren’s ribs, into his lungs.

“Why did you do this,” Maya said. Her voice was low and toneless. “Why did you drag us into this.”

Ren’s mouth tasted like sand. He knew what she was going to say, couldn’t bear to hear it but also couldn’t bear knowing she could think it, knowing she could carry it around like a worm on her tongue. Like a weapon, ready to deploy.

 _We would have been better off without you_.

She took a breath, and then Akechi's hand was under her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. “Maya,” he said, surprisingly level for all that his eyes were smoldering. “Stop.”

Maya bared her teeth, maybe a grimace maybe a snarl, and tried to pull away, but he held firm. “Let go!”

“ _Maya_ ,” Akechi snapped, and she stopped. “Why are you trying to push us away?”

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m not—it’s not—”

“Ren loves you,” he said. She stiffened, eyes flaring wide. “ _I_ love you. You can’t make us stop.”

Maya knocked his hand away, stumbled backward, sat down against the wall. Akechi followed her, knelt beside her, gripped her shoulder.

“And,” Akechi said, “you can’t make _yourself_ stop.”

“I don’t,” she gasped, drawing her knees to her chest. “I don’t, I don’t, I don’t—”

“Yes you do. It’s all right.”

“It’s _not_ I _don’t_ ,” Maya cried, fisting her hands in her hair. “I _hate_ you.”

Oh, Ren thought. Right.

It was funny, really, that he hadn’t connected these dots before. Maya was so much like Akechi in so many ways, and Ren had noted and marveled at almost all of them. But when she was angry at Ren, specifically, for caring about her, for caring _for_ her, he missed the cues. The part of his brain that had (correctly) translated Akechi’s hatefulness into thwarted affection short-circuited when Maya gave the exact same signals. Why was that?

A question for Yonehara. For now, Ren sat down next to her, carefully pried her fingers loose, grasped her hands. She shot him a glower made significantly less menacing by the tears coursing down her face, sobbed, and collapsed into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, clinging to him. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Ren said, cradling the back of her head, holding Akechi’s gaze. “We’re okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is not lost on ren or akechi that sai’s birthday is 2/2. maya’s is 3/20. an aquarius and a pisces on the cusp of aries.


	22. Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **cw:** explicit sex (marathon sex, rough sex, scratching, handjobs, rimming, biting, mild bloodplay, dirty talk, body worship, anal fingering, prostate play, overstimulation, safewording, blowjobs, deepthroating, riding, aftercare)
> 
> [the sex is bracketed by horizontal lines; please feel free to skip it if it’s not your thing!]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6KPgWc4Zlo)
> 
> [_You make a fool of death with your beauty_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6KPgWc4Zlo)
> 
> [
> 
> _And for a moment, I forget to worry_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6KPgWc4Zlo)

Christmas Eve had always been a bit fraught for them.

For the first few years of their relationship, they’d treated it like a regular night, whatever a “regular night” looked like at any given point in their lives. Ordering in, watching a movie, reading different books on the same couch, having entirely ordinary and routine sex. Going to bed early. Even once they’d started celebrating in the way they were expected to, they hadn’t gone all out. A nice dinner here, an especially adventurous new toy there. Nothing major. They saved the extravagant presents, the advance reservations, the fancy cakes and huge parties for Akechi’s birthday and their anniversary. Anything else would have been...too much. Too much, on a day that was associated, for both of them, with sacrificing themselves for the good of mankind, and losing each other in the process.

For what should have been obvious reasons, Akechi wanted this year to be different. He hadn’t had to push (much) to get Ren to agree, and once Ren was on board, everything else fell neatly into place. Didn’t it always?

Jazz Jin was dark and cool and anything but quiet. The singer that night, a Black woman backed by four musicians, had a rich, smooth voice that spiraled effortlessly between haunting, blues-y lilt and raw, ragged wail. Underlying that, sometimes crescendoing to match or surpass her, were drums, trumpet, bass guitar, and alternating clarinet and saxophone. The reed player was especially good, bright and jaunty and rich and woody in equal measure. (Ha. Measure. A music pun.)

Akechi sat at one of the tables nearest the stage, legs crossed, hands folded, eyes closed and head tilted. He was wearing a rented suit, carefully chosen: a single-breasted scarlet coat, nipped tight at the waist, over a black silk shirt with black bowtie; black velvet gloves; black pants and shiny, pointed black shoes. His hair was parted and swept to one side, his bangs falling at an angle across his forehead. The drink in front of him, a vodka gimlet, was all but untouched; he only deigned to sip it between sets, and even then, not always.

He was alone at the table, but not for much longer. The band was halfway through a sweet, crooning song about forbidden love when Akechi, eyes still shut, index finger tapping gently along to the melody, became aware of Ren’s presence: an electric charge rippling up one side of his body. He pretended he hadn’t noticed.

It seemed to take forever for Ren to walk over; he was probably taking his time, either to annoy Akechi or admire the view. Akechi still didn’t stir when Ren’s hand found his shoulder, his lips his cheek.

“Hey,” Ren murmured. He smelled like cinnamon cologne. “Sorry I’m late.”

Akechi snorted. “For you, this is practically early,” he remarked, over the scrape of a chair being dragged closer and the creak as Ren sat down. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. The girls are fine. Sojiro wanted to _talk_ to me.” He sounded mortified. “Capital-T Talk. He said he was sorry for—”

“Chewing your ear off?”

“Ah- _ha_ ,” Ren said. “So _you_ put him up to it.”

“He knew he’d overreacted. I simply encouraged him to tell you so.” Akechi hummed appreciatively as the trumpet struck a long, trilling note. “Futaba may have chimed in, also.”

“He didn’t stand a chance.”

Akechi finally opened his eyes. Ren was watching the band, his hands loose in his lap, red velvet gloves faintly shimmering. They hadn’t been able to find a suitable tailcoat, so he was in a double-breasted black coat instead, a sliver of scarlet silk just visible at his collar. His pants and shoes matched Akechi’s. And he’d done something to his hair. Combed it, maybe, or—

“You trimmed it,” Akechi said, rubbing a lock between his fingers. “Out of your eyes.”

Ren cocked his head, smirked at him. “I figured it was time.”

“I hate it,” Akechi drawled. “Never again.”

The smirk spread into a grin. “What, you jealous?”

“That everyone else will be able to see your eyes now? Yes.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” Ren said, coiling his fingers around Akechi’s jaw and leaning in close. “I only have eyes for you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Akechi replied.

But he didn’t pull away, even when Ren’s gaze dropped to his mouth—

“Good evening, Ren-san!” said the server, depositing Ren’s drink on the table. “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” Ren called to their retreating back, picking up his glass. “A White Russian, huh? You know me so well.”

“I like to think so.”

“When was the last time I told you I loved you?”

“This morning, I believe.”

Ren sipped his drink, licked a streak of cream from his upper lip. “Well, I still do.”

“I wasn’t worried.”

“Cocky.” Ren nodded at the stage. “They sound good.”

“They’re exceptional. Listen.”

Akechi closed his eyes again, tilted his head again, sank back into his reverie. His enjoyment was tempered somewhat by the force of Ren’s stare, which, combined with the small, fond smile Akechi knew he was wearing, gave off a nearly palpable heat. Akechi had only recently gotten used to the way Ren looked at him in public. It felt more intimate than the dirtiest things they had done in bed. And they had done some _dirty_ things.

Partly to distract himself from the tingling flush creeping up his neck, Akechi started commentating. “That was quite impressive, what he did there,” he murmured when the trumpeter jumped from one octave to another in a single breath. And, “You hear the sax? It’s a countermelody to the vocals…” And so on. Meanwhile the trumpet’s peals resonated inside his ribs; the bass thrummed like a heartbeat in his bones; the rasp of the sax sizzled in his blood.

“Have you ever thought about playing an instrument?”

Akechi blinked awake. “Me?”

Ren’s smile curled like a cat’s. “Who else?”

“Of course not. Instruments, lessons—they’re far too expensive.”

“We could afford it. If you wanted to.”

“I’m sure it’s too late for that.”

“What would you want to play?” Ren leaned his head on his fist. “Trumpet?”

“Do you realize how awful a trumpet can sound in the wrong hands?”

“Your hands look right to me.”

“I enjoy music,” Akechi said, “and I studied a bit of music theory in college—”

“I remember.”

“—but that doesn’t mean I’m qualified to play it.”

Ren narrowed his eyes. Paired with that smile, it was a look that promised trouble. “Hmm. Something to think about, I guess.”

The song ended. Akechi joined everyone in clapping. Everyone except for Ren, who finished his drink—had it really been that long?—and stood up, offering Akechi his hand. On cue, the band launched into a slow ballad.

Jazz Jin didn’t have a dance floor and dancing was not exactly encouraged, but Akechi was well beyond arguing the point. He’d spent countless hours trying to convince Ren that they were embarrassing themselves; disrupting the other patrons; offending the musicians; etc, etc, to absolutely no avail. Ren was determined to dance, so they danced. Unstoppable force, immovable object. Except that, when it came to Ren, Akechi was eminently movable.

They never stood _right_ in front of the stage; always off to one side, partly in shadow, so they didn’t steal the spotlight. Sometimes they danced swing, or waltzed, or something equally flashy. Tonight wasn’t one of those nights. Tonight, Ren slipped one arm around Akechi’s waist, grasped his right hand, and drew him close. Sighing—not irritably—Akechi set his left hand on Ren’s shoulder and let him lead.

“What’re you wearing?” Ren murmured, nuzzling his neck. “It’s nice.”

“Ann helped me choose it,” Akechi said, only mildly embarrassed by the admission. “It has lotus in it.”

Ren’s laugh tickled his ear. “I like it. Yusuke helped me pick mine out.”

“He has good taste.”

“We’re lucky we have friends who are smarter than us.”

Akechi squeezed his hand. Ren dipped his forehead into the crook of Akechi’s neck, swaying them gently in an ellipse that would have appalled a ballroom dancer but felt just fine under the circumstances. Akechi nosed into Ren’s hair, inhaling deeply, cutting through his cologne to the fundamental scent of _Ren_ buried underneath. He would never get tired of that smell. He’d almost had to imagine never smelling it again.

“Incidentally,” Akechi said, “I love you too.”

He felt Ren smile against the fabric of his suit. “I knew it.”

“Cocky,” Akechi said, and smoothly took the lead: put his right arm around Ren’s waist, grasped Ren’s right hand in his left, jostled his shoulder so that Ren lifted his head. “You can’t tell me you’ve never doubted it.”

Ren raised his eyebrows. “Hmm. No, I was always pretty sure.”

“You’re insufferable.” Akechi guided him through an outside change. “And full of yourself.”

“But you love me.” Ren tilted his head, searching Akechi’s face, his smile softening. “So I can’t be that bad.”

“I wouldn’t dare inflate your ego further. Your head might actually explode.”

“You know better than anybody that the ego’s an act.”

Akechi’s mouth was suddenly dry. He tightened his grip on Ren’s hand to hide the tremor that fluttered through his own; briefly considered going back to the table, ordering a glass of water, but dismissed the idea. There was no better time than now, with Ren’s body very warm and very close.

“And you know better than anyone that my eloquence is an act,” Akechi said, mapping the constellation of tiny lights reflected in Ren’s irises. “I never know what to say. So I’ll ask you not to interrupt me until I get this out.”

Ren blinked, opened his mouth, and Akechi kicked his ankle. “Shut up,” he said conversationally, and caught his breath, and dove in. That was the key, with performance, and this was performance by necessity, because if he hadn’t practiced what he wanted to say, he would never have been able to say it.

Akechi said, “I’m sure you’re well aware that _I_ doubted I loved you, for quite a long time. Part of me didn’t _know_ ,” he added, to head off the protest already sparking in Ren’s throat. “I had never loved anyone before, and I couldn’t make sense of what I felt. But part of me knew, and resisted it. I was frightened.”

“I knew that,” Ren murmured.

“Shut _up_. I had a dozen reasons. If I loved you, you would leave me; you would become a target for Shido; I would hurt you; I wouldn’t be able to give you what you wanted.” Ren pursed his lips to keep from arguing. “I couldn’t be the person you expected or the person you needed. I couldn’t imagine what that would even mean.”

Akechi pressed lightly on the small of Ren’s back to draw him forward until their chests were flush. They slowed to a languid, mindless pivot, rocking from side to side, Akechi’s universe—at least for that moment—shrinking to the diameter of Ren’s pupils.

“I was wrong,” Akechi said. “I’m grateful for your patience while I figured that out.”

“It didn’t take you that long, considering,” Ren replied.

“For a man of few words, you have a lot to say.”

Akechi stopped moving, looked and looked and looked: at the deep dark well of Ren’s eyes, at the light glinting off the tip of his nose, at the fine point of his chin and the curl of his hair over his ears. He wanted to remember this. He wanted to remember every second, from now on.

“It won’t be long, now, before I’ll have known you longer than I knew no one,” he said quietly. “Before I’ll have loved you longer than I hated my father. That means something to me. You mean something to me.”

Ren released Akechi’s hand to cup his cheek. Akechi grasped Ren’s wrist, his palm, the fingers of his glove, pulled. It came easily off, leaving Ren’s right hand bare.

“What,” Ren said, but the light suddenly running like rivers beneath his skin suggested he knew _what_.

Goro said, “Pick my pocket, thief.”

Ren’s lips parted, but Goro would not be distracted by that for longer than a moment. This was too important.

“So you’re _not_ just happy to see me?” Ren managed, his voice tight.

“Go on,” Goro said. “Take it. It’s yours.”

“Goro,” Ren rasped. His heart beat wild against Goro’s sternum. “We’re already married; you don’t have to—”

“Do as I say.”

With his left hand, Ren reached into Goro’s pocket and drew out the little velvet box. But he didn’t look at it. He just stared and stared at Goro, hungry, consuming, and so Goro took the box, opened it, held up the ring. It was made of smooth, black marble, richly veined in a brilliant red that matched the color of Joker’s (now Rook’s, now Ren’s) gloves. Ren glanced at it, swallowed hard, went back to scouring Goro’s face while Goro slipped the ring onto his finger.

“Yusuke introduced me to the artist,” Goro said, surprised he could speak at all. All those years onstage, he supposed. “She’s made the most beautiful sculptures; jewelry was definitely within her wheelhouse. Makoto submitted the commission and Futaba handled communications so you wouldn’t be tipped off by mistake.

“Haru paid for the materials—she insisted. Ryuji chose the marble, though of course I had final say. Morgana helped me take your measurements, as much as a cat can help with anything.

“Sumire provided the box. It’s not for rings, technically, but it did the job. And Ann picked up the final product. I couldn’t risk it getting lost in the mail.”

“I didn’t get you anything,” Ren whispered. “I didn’t even think about—”

Goro removed his left glove, showed Ren the band around his own finger: scarlet marble, threaded through with black. “Not quite a match,” he murmured. “An inverse, rather.”

Ren’s eyebrows furrowed; his nostrils flared; his lips compressed. He gulped a shuddering breath, coughed, pushed the heel of his hand against his eye. “ _God_. Goro.”

Goro grinned. “You like it, then.”

Ren sputtered a laugh. “Of course I like it, you _goober_. I— _hell_.” He examined his ring, watching the lights overhead play across its sleek surface. “You keep surprising me.”

“That’s a first.”

“You’ve been surprising me since the day we met.” Ren lifted his palms to Goro’s jaw. The marble band was silken against Goro’s skin. “And almost every minute after. Even when I knew what you were thinking, I was never sure what you were going to do. Not until the last second. Nobody else in my life has ever kept me guessing like you do.” Their lips were close enough to brush, to touch. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Ren was, by now, a crystalline blur, but Akechi refused to blink. He refused to look away from him even for an instant. “Typical. I practice for days and you spin something heartfelt off the cuff.”

Ren beamed, and made to close the infinitesimal gap between them; but then he seemed to remember where they were. “Let’s go. Get your coat.”

***

* * *

The trip home wasn’t so much a blur as a fugue. They behaved themselves in the cab; the poor driver didn’t deserve to listen to them slobbering in the backseat. They did hold hands, at least, Ren turning their clasped fist back and forth to admire the contrasting bands on their linked fingers. He couldn’t seem to stop looking.

Akechi couldn’t stop looking at him.

Once they got inside, Akechi insisted that they hang up the suits so they wouldn’t be ruined, which led to a very tense few minutes of calm, careful undressing. And then—and then…

Ren’s arm was tight around Akechi’s throat, his chest slick against Akechi’s back, his teeth sharp in Akechi’s shoulder. His other elbow was hooked under Akechi’s knee, hiking up his leg, holding him open as he fucked him at a punishing pace. They hadn’t done nearly enough prep and it _burned_ but god it was good, it was so good, Akechi rocked his head back against Ren’s shoulder and dug his nails into Ren’s forearm and opened his mouth, the deep, guttural groan rippling up from his core juddering in time with Ren’s thrusts.

He was—close. The heat clenched like a fist in his gut surged with every wet slap of Ren’s pelvis against his ass, washing through him in waves that shook his limbs and left his fingers and toes tingling. Drool spilled from the corner of his mouth and yet his throat was dry and yearning, scrubbed raw by exertion. All this was to say nothing of his cock, which was so hard and overstimulated that it throbbed where it lay against his abdomen, where its head dragged against the duvet beneath them.

But he couldn’t come. He wouldn’t. Not until Ren did. He bit down hard on his lip to vent the steam filling his skull and _clenched_. The choked sound Ren made, “ _haugh_ ,” speared along Akechi’s length, spilling precum onto the bed.

“Come on,” Akechi panted, reaching back, fisting his hand in Ren’s hair. “ _Give in_.” Ren faltered, breath catching, and Akechi pulled so hard that Ren cried out. “You know you want to.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Ren snarled. Before Akechi quite knew what was happening, he was flat on his stomach, dick pressed painfully between himself and the mattress; and then Ren hoisted him up onto his knees, planted his hand on the back of Akechi’s neck, and drummed into him with renewed fervor.

Akechi twisted his head sideways, gasping for air, clawing the pillow; and Ren sank the nails of his free hand into Akechi’s asscheek, raked them downward in a stinging rush that nearly _nearly nearly_ tipped Akechi over the edge. He squeezed his eyes shut and bore down and rocked _back_ , meeting Ren’s thrusts, refusing to give him any space to escape what he knew was a tight, impossible heat, especially when he squeezed like— _that_ —

Ren came. He fell forward across Akechi’s back, catching himself on his elbows, pinning Akechi’s hair to the pillow. Akechi had told him to wear a condom, so he didn’t get to feel Ren bleeding into him; but the breathless moan spilling from Ren’s mouth and the rough, spasmodic jerk of his hips were reward enough. Akechi closed his own fingers around himself and finished in two strokes, catching his cum in his palm.

The next thing Akechi knew, Ren was stirring on top of him, _inside of_ him, reawakening the tingling stretch. “ _Slow_ , slow,” Akechi hissed.

“Sorry,” Ren murmured, kneading Akechi’s hip as he carefully pulled out. Akechi groaned at the raw slide, the pinch of Ren’s head across his rim. “Should’ve prepped more.”

“No,” Akechi panted. “Didn’t want to wait.”

Humming, Ren laved his tongue across the stinging scratches he’d left on Akechi’s rear. Akechi sank heavily into the mattress, purring; caught his breath when Ren gently spread his cheeks apart and lapped at his cleft too, broad, heavy strokes that didn’t so much soothe the burn as distract Akechi from it. By the time Ren sealed his lips over Akechi’s asshole and suckled at him, probing inside, Akechi was on his knees again, leaning back into wet heat and flickering muscle, gasping out Ren’s name. Thank god they had the house to themselves, thank god he didn’t have to bite the pillow to try to keep quiet; thank god for Ren’s fingers gliding up his thighs, pressing into his taint, finding—

Akechi jolted, coughed a moan, and Ren hummed again, repeating the motion that ignited every nerve in Akechi’s lower body and sent fireworks spiraling through his limbs. “Ren,” he groaned, pushing his forehead into the pillow, not to muffle himself but for something to do, because he couldn’t thrash and writhe the way he wanted to without pulling away and he _would not_ do that, not when Ren was sliding his tongue inside of him and _curling_ —

Ren cupped Akechi’s balls, squeezed, dragged his lower lip up and across Akechi’s entrance with a hideous slurping noise that sent fire roaring through him. Then Ren curled his fingers around Akechi’s cock, which had already been struggling to revive and now throbbed as Ren massaged the base, stroked smoothly up the length, pinched the tip. Akechi’s hips stuttered; his mouth opened, his throat twisting around a sound he couldn’t identify.

Ren was going to stroke him back to hardness and make him come again. Probably he would flip Akechi over at some point to suck him off, or maybe he’d crawl underneath him and do it right here like this, while Akechi trembled on his hands and knees. The idea made his mouth water.

But no, no, not yet, he had a plan, stick to the plan. “Wait,” he rasped, swatting at Ren with his clean hand. “Rook. Wait.”

Ren drew back, smoothing his palms along Akechi’s ribs. “Need a break?”

“Yes,” Akechi said, shifting onto his butt with a grunt. “And then I have a proposition.”

Ren brightened. “You’re going to fuck me in the shower?”

Rolling his eyes, Akechi plucked the damp washcloth off the nightstand. “You should ask Yonehara about your obsession with shower sex,” he said, scrubbing his sticky hands. “It’s not healthy.”

“Sure it is.” Ren removed his condom, tied it off, got up to throw it out. “Gets you nice and clean.”

“ _Have_ you talked to Yonehara about our sex life?”

“Nope.” Ren climbed back into bed and handed Akechi a bottled water. “What’s this proposition?”

Akechi twisted off the cap and downed half the bottle. Propping a pillow against the headboard, Ren settled in beside him and opened his own water.

“I want to make you come untouched,” Akechi said.

Ren choked, hacked into his elbow. Akechi smacked him on the back.

“ _What_?” Ren wheezed, squinting at him through streaming eyes.

“It’s not _that_ shocking,” Akechi said.

“But—why?”

“I think you’d enjoy it.”

“There’s lots of things I’d enjoy. Why that one? Especially when it’s never worked before?”

Because it’s something the other Goro would never have done, Akechi thought, and immediately regretted it, because as soon as it crossed his mind it crossed his face too. Ren saw it, and looked first stricken, then exasperated.

“Are you seriously,” Ren said, “jealous of _Maruki’s cognition of you_?”

“No,” Akechi said, setting his water bottle on the nightstand. “I wasn’t—that’s not the real reason. You’ve…done it for me, before.” He watched a bead of condensation trickle across the plastic. “But it’s the only thing I haven’t been able to do for you.”

“Akechi—”

Akechi turned back, met Ren’s gaze. “I’m not jealous,” he said quietly. “Of that creature or anyone. I just want to make you feel good.”

Ren stared at him, piercing, assessing. A pink flush slowly bloomed across his chest, his collarbone, climbed his neck into his ears.

“What’d you have in mind?” he asked hoarsely.

Akechi grinned.

The rules were: Ren was allowed to touch anything but his own dick. He was allowed, and in fact encouraged, to move and to make noise. The safeword was _Crow_. Akechi was going to touch and kiss and bite him everywhere, and then he was going to use his own favorite toy—a curved vibrator, a few inches long, with a rounded knob at one end—to take Ren apart.

The toy lay on the nightstand beside them as Akechi slotted himself between Ren’s thighs, bore him down to the mattress, and kissed him. Ren’s mouth was open even before their lips met, his tongue sliding across Akechi’s, probing the depths of his mouth. Akechi tangled his fingers in Ren’s hair and pulled, shivering with satisfaction when he gasped. With his other hand, he trailed his nails down Ren’s side to his hips and back up again, not leaving marks yet, just teasing. Ren’s fingers flitted across Akechi’s shoulders, his neck, carded through his hair, very hot against his skin.

But Akechi couldn’t let himself get too distracted by that, or by the insistent firmness already pressing against his stomach. He broke the kiss to bite Ren’s lower lip, _really_ bite it, so that Ren yelped and copper flooded Akechi’s mouth. He suckled at the split, teasing with the tip of his tongue, turning Ren’s breath shallow and ragged and making him clutch at Akechi’s arms. When Akechi drew away, Ren uttered a faint noise of protest, _hhh_ , and Akechi glanced up and smirked to see his pupils already blown and his swollen lips wet and parted.

“Patience,” he purred, planting his hand firmly on Ren’s hip to stop him from bucking up. “We’ve got a long way to go.”

“Tease,” Ren accused, breathlessly.

“That’s the _idea_.”

Akechi pressed punishing kisses to both corners of Ren’s mouth, to his cheeks, to his nose and eyelids and forehead; he lapped at each of his ears in turn, sucking on his earlobe, grazing his teeth against the fragile skin. Ren’s breath caught with a wet click as he turned his head, pushing into Akechi’s mouth.

Akechi moved lower, bit a bright red collar across Ren’s throat.

“I hope you bruise,” he said, nipping especially sharply at Ren’s pulse point, making him flinch. “In fact I’m going to check back in a few minutes, and if you haven’t, I’ll _make_ you. I want your parents to know.”

Ren moaned.

“I want them to see,” Akechi added, licking a stripe up Ren’s neck, “exactly what you let me do to you. How much power I have over you.”

“They should know already,” Ren gasped. “It should be obvious.”

Snorting, Akechi fixed his lips over one of the fine, shining scars on Ren’s jaw and nursed it heady and purple. Ren keened, arched his back, let his head fall against the pillow and dug his nails into Akechi’s skin; when Akechi switched sides, licking and nuzzling, Ren wrapped his thighs around his waist and squeezed.

“It must be nice,” Akechi said, rubbing his cheek against the sharp divot of Ren’s collarbone, “to be saved by a god.” Ren’s fingertips found the gnarled, upraised scar between Akechi’s shoulderblades, chillingly close to his spine. “You healed up nice and pretty.”

“I like your scars _fuck_ ,” Ren hissed, twisting away as Akechi raked his nails diagonally from shoulder to rib, leaving shining red furrows in his wake. “Fuck,” Ren repeated, and coughed out a groan, struggling to lift his hips as Akechi ran his tongue across the glistening stripes. “ _Goro_.”

“You talk too much.”

Akechi slurped his way over to the faint pucker in Ren’s skin where Nyarlarhotep’s sword had plunged into him. This he worked between his teeth, not enough to bruise but enough to sting. Ren shuddered, exhaled, and Akechi lifted his head, dragging at the silvered skin, pinching hard _just_ before it snapped back into place.

“That’s your least attractive habit,” Akechi added. He slid both hands underneath Ren, cupped his ass and curled his fingertips into the cleft between his cheeks. “Running your mouth.”

Ren muttered something, surged up to try to kiss him, but Akechi squeezed hard and he fell back with a strangled cry.

“Hmm?” Akechi said, raising his eyebrows. “What was that?”

“If you don’t like me running my mouth,” Ren spat, “then _give it something to do_.”

Akechi smiled. “Oh?” he said, tilting his head. “You want my cock in your throat? Is that it?”

Ren glared up at him, but the effect was ruined somewhat by the drool dribbling down his chin.

“I know you can take it,” Akechi said. He rocked his hips, pushing his length against the juncture of Ren’s thigh. “You’re a good cocksucker. How long would I have to hold it there to choke you?”

Ren clearly meant to retort, meant to come up with something witty, but all that came out was a moan.

“Maybe later.” Akechi rubbed his nose against Ren’s. “We have all night.”

He moved a lot faster after that, though. He worked his way down Ren’s chest, paying special and specific attention to his hard, puckered nipples, sucking and biting until they were speckled red. Glided lower, nudging aside Ren’s weeping cock to trace the twin scars on his abdomen with tongue and teeth; to press firm, wet kisses to each and every one of his ribs; to lap at his belly button until he thrashed; to dye the white scar below his navel purple like all the rest. He drove his teeth into the ripple of muscle bracketing Ren’s hips, his nails into his straining balls, his lips between thigh and pelvis. He gripped Ren’s knees and shoved him open and fucked him on his tongue, relishing the way Ren bucked into him and pulled his hair and filled the room with high, desperate cries.

“You want it now?” he murmured, once he’d drifted down Ren’s legs to his feet, sliding his tongue between his toes.

“Want,” Ren said, not a question. He was propped up on his elbows, watching Akechi, eyes glazed and incoherent. Heat curled in Akechi’s gut at the sight.

“Do you want me to make you come.”

Ren gasped; his cock, so dark and swollen that Akechi was amazed it could move at all, managed to twitch. “ _Yes_.”

“Hmm.” Akechi slid his hands up Ren’s thighs, dug his fingertips into firm muscle. “I suppose it’s about time.”

“Please,” Ren breathed, wrapping his calves around Akechi’s hips, drawing him forward. “Please.”

“Since you asked so nicely.”

He picked up the lube, opened it, and slicked his hands, very aware of Ren’s gaze on him, of the anticipation quivering through his body. He settled onto his stomach between Ren’s legs, nosed at his balls, inhaled deeply. Ren whined. Smirking, Akechi traced Ren’s rim with his middle finger, watching the gleaming circle he left behind tremble. Ren snapped his thighs closed around Akechi’s shoulders, encouraging, demanding.

“So impatient,” Akechi tutted. “I really shouldn’t reward you for such behavior.”

But he did it anyway, as much for his own pleasure as for Ren’s: pressed his middle finger into him, and his index finger too once it bumped up against his entrance. They’d done this often enough that Ren was pliant and yielding; Akechi heard him inhale long and steady as Akechi’s fingers sank into him, felt the mattress ripple as he settled yet again onto his back. Once Akechi was buried up to his knuckles, he paused to savor the sensation: the shudder of Ren’s walls, the tight pressure of his rim, the heat. Nothing on earth felt like that. Fire _might_ have, if it didn’t also immediately sear away your nerves and leave you numb. Akechi’s own favorite thing, when Ren did this to him, was feeling how hot Ren’s fingertips were when he withdrew them and trailed them up Akechi’s perineum to his—

“Goro,” Ren rasped, bringing him back to the present moment.

“My apologies,” Akechi murmured, quirking his fingers, pressing firmly into the rounded nodule of Ren’s prostate. “I was distracted.”

“ _Hah_ ,” Ren choked, back arching, hands tightening in the duvet. Akechi did it again, noting with delight the tremor that traveled up Ren’s abdomen, the fresh rivulet of precum that slid down his side. But that wasn’t all Akechi was here for. Pushing in deeper, he spread his fingers apart and _twisted_ , rocking them in shallow arcs to work Ren further and further open. Another shudder racked Ren’s body, flattened his lips; he tore his hands from the blanket to sink them into his own hair, pushing his elbows against the sides of his head, bracing his heels on the bed. When Akechi found his prostate again, rubbing in small circles, Ren’s cry actually echoed off the walls.

Akechi lowered his head and licked Ren’s taint; dipped farther down to run the tip of his tongue along Ren’s opening, around his own fingers scissoring inside him. Ren’s moan broke into a fragmented sob. Akechi paused, glancing up at him, giving him a chance to safeword if he wanted to; but Ren clenched his jaw and bore down, forcing Akechi’s fingers back together, answer enough.

He withdrew, picked up the toy, coated it liberally with lube. And then, spreading Ren’s cheeks apart with his free hand, he pressed it against the expectant pucker of Ren’s asshole.

Ren’s groan seemed to resonate directly from the point of contact. Akechi worked the toy in with gentle rocking motions, out a half-inch, in a quarter, until it was fully seated. And then he paused again, watching Ren’s head loll to one side and his eyelids flutter, watching his tongue slide pink and wet across his lips.

“Ready?” Akechi asked.

“Mmh,” Ren managed, spittle spilling from the corner of his mouth.

“Are you _ready_?”

Ren gulped a breath. “Yes.”

“All right, then,” Akechi murmured, and angled the toy upward.

The effect was instantaneous. Ren’s eyes flared wide, his jaw dropped, his chest heaved; his pupils went huge and then shrank to pinpricks, like a collapsing star. “ _Go_ ,” he choked, possibly a command and possibly the first half of Goro’s name, so Goro repeated the motion, dragging the rounded tip against what he knew was Ren’s prostate.

Ren kicked out with one foot, pushed down with the other, lifting his hips off the mattress. Goro did it again. Ren gripped the pillow so hard he could have twisted it apart; his eyes rolled back into his head, slivers of white beneath dark lashes. Again. Ren’s cock jumped, _audibly_ spurting a streak of precum right up to his sternum.

Goro’s mouth was dry, his own dick throbbing. He could hear Ren’s teeth gnashing, the squeak of molar on molar, as he moved the vibrator again. And again. Ren was humming frantically now, a constant drone low in his throat, his head snapping back and forth—

—but Goro knew at once that the next wave that rolled over him was a bad one. He could see it in the sudden tension in Ren’s lips, the tendons standing out in his hands, the goosebumps that prickled his skin. Ren opened his mouth, uttered a thick, heavy cough, and Goro was pulling the toy out and setting it aside even before he said, “ _Crow_ , Crow, stop—”

“Okay,” Akechi murmured, leaning over, rubbing his palms up and down Ren’s arms. “Okay. Just breathe. It’s okay.”

Ren was still gritting his teeth, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Akechi cupped his face in his hands, pushed his thumbs into the straining muscles of Ren’s jaw. “ _Breathe_ , Ren,” he urged. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Breathe.”

Ren did, finally, a shallow, rattling hitch. “Sorry,” he mumbled on the exhale, turning his face away. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Hush.” Akechi smoothed his fingers down Ren’s neck, across his shoulders, along his arms to his hands still fisted in the bedspread. “Just relax.”

“It’s too much.”

“I know.” Akechi kissed his temple, worked his fingers between Ren’s, pressed down to free his grasp on the duvet. “I know, beloved. I know.”

Ren drew another reedy, whistling breath.

“You want to look at me?”

Ren shook his head. Akechi guided one of Ren’s hands around to his back, clasped the other in his own, rested his head in the curve of Ren’s shoulder. After a second, Ren’s arm tightened across Akechi’s midsection, his fingers around Akechi’s, and he reopened his legs so that Akechi could blanket him with his body.

“I’m sorry,” Ren repeated. He sounded more like himself, but still strained; his teeth chattered as the tremors pulled his muscles taut. “I tried.”

Akechi huffed a laugh into his neck. “ _I’m_ sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t. It was—” Ren’s voice caught. Akechi stroked his palm until the next shudder passed. “It was good. Until it wasn’t.”

“Well, now we know.”

“I really wanted to—”

“It’s fine,” Akechi sighed, shaking his head theatrically. “I should have known you wouldn’t be able to handle it. Only a special type of person can withstand that sort of stimulation.”

It was a gamble, teasing him, but it paid off: Ren laughed, as much out of surprise as actual humor.

“You’re right,” he said. “A repressed tightwad, for example.”

“Precisely. That’s always been your greatest failing, you know. You let your feelings get the better of you.”

“You’re the one who pitches hissy fits about Maya not wearing her scarf.”

“She needs to wear her scarf,” Akechi said promptly. “She’ll catch her death.”

“Because her ears are cold?”

“Yes. Heat escapes through the skull.”

“That’s an old wives’ tale. And anyway that means she should be wearing a hat, not a scarf.”

“If you can convince her of that, be my guest.”

Ren snorted. Akechi glanced at him. His eyes were still closed, but lightly; the tension had left him; his breathing was even. After a moment he looked down at Akechi, quirked a smile.

“It _was_ good,” he said. “I was almost there.”

“Do you want me to finish it?” Akechi asked, searching his expression. Ren was still hard, if less painfully than he had been. “Not with the toy. However you’d like. We could take that shower…”

“Oh we are _definitely_ fucking in the shower,” Ren said, smile widening. Then he winced, and shifted. “If we can stand up for that long, anyway. But not right now.”

He tucked a lock of Akechi’s hair behind his ear, curled his fingers around the back of his head, and pulled him forward. Akechi leaned in, readily, eagerly, and propped himself up on one elbow so he could seal their lips together, breathing down Ren’s throat. Then Ren was sitting up, taking Akechi with him, licking into his mouth; he nudged Akechi around so he was leaning against the headboard, pillow tucked into the small of his back. Ren broke the kiss to cast about, pawing the bed until he found the bottle of lube.

Kneeling between Akechi’s legs, Ren bent forward to draw the head of Akechi’s cock past his lips, curling his tongue against the slit. Akechi bucked his hips, linked his fingers across the back of his own neck. Ren bobbed his head downward, upward, downward, taking Akechi slightly deeper each time, gradually engulfing him in soft, slick warmth. Meanwhile he opened the bottle in his hands, tipped a dollop of lube into his palms, and rubbed them together. Akechi watched through hazy eyes as Ren, finally burying his nose in the wiry hair at the base of Akechi’s cock, reached back to open himself with glistening fingers.

His own breath rattling in his chest, Akechi pushed both of his hands through Ren’s hair, tugging roughly when he encountered the inevitable tangles, shuddering when Ren growled around him in response. Ren’s tongue was pressed flat against the underside of his member, pulsing in counterpoint to Akechi’s own thundering heartbeat. Akechi jerked his hips, roughly, cruelly, making Ren gag, but Ren stayed where he was, spluttering through it, soaking Akechi’s pelvis with saliva and probably snot. Meanwhile the wet sucking sound of Ren’s fingers sliding in and out of his asshole filled the room, making Akechi’s skin tingle with anticipation.

After an eternity, after maybe a minute, Ren withdrew his fingers, and Akechi gripped his hair and ripped his head off of his cock. The cold air washing over the dampness Ren left behind sent a shiver through him, punching another groan from his lungs. Ren made a show of licking his lips as he sat back and reopened the lube. Glancing up, holding Akechi’s gaze with moist, blazing eyes, he tipped the bottle over the head of Akechi’s dick, letting a fine, thin stream of wetness course along his length. Akechi had half a mind to choke him with it again, and almost indulged himself, but then Ren’s hands were curling around him, one on top of the other, and gliding smoothly up and down.

“You want to ride me,” Akechi croaked, reaching back to grip the headboard.

“Like a horse,” Ren confirmed, with a roguish smirk, swiping his thumb across the tip of Akechi’s member. Akechi flinched, cursed. “I’ll lead.”

“Whatever you want,” Akechi said. “Just _do it_.”

Ren’s smirk widened into a grin. He left Akechi twitching while he painstakingly capped the lube, put it back on the nightstand, crawled into Akechi’s lap. He rose onto his knees, reached down to line Akechi up with his entrance. He wasn’t looking at Akechi anymore, but Akechi could hear the ragged edge of his breathing, see the saliva pooling in his open mouth as he guided Akechi’s head to his rim. With a push, echoed by their unified gasp, Akechi was inside, and Ren lowered himself slowly until their hips were flush.

Normally, that would have been Akechi’s cue to move, but he restrained himself, biting his tongue, squeezing the headboard until his fingers hurt. Ren’s eyebrows were knitted, his eyes shut, his hands splayed on Akechi’s shoulders. Akechi didn’t dare push him too far or too fast.

When Ren moved, it was the barest shift, a roll of his hips that sent static singing up Akechi’s spine. Ren exhaled shakily, tightening his grip on Akechi’s shoulders, and did it again. It took a while for him to find either the nerve or the strength to start working in earnest, building speed and force.

Akechi couldn’t take it; he had to touch him; he released the headboard and gripped Ren’s waist instead, digging his nails in until Ren grunted, until his eyelids fluttered open and he met Akechi’s gaze. Akechi pulled, and Ren leaned forward, bracing one hand beside Akechi’s head and pushing his face into Akechi’s shoulder.

The next time Ren rocked upward, Akechi caught him, held him suspended halfway up his cock. Ren’s breath hitched; he keened. Akechi licked his lips, exhaled shakily, and _dropped him_ , snapping his own hips up at the same moment to slam their pelvises together. Ren cried out, his spine stiffening, his fingertips squeaking on the headboard. When he finally recovered enough to rise back upward, Akechi grabbed him again, dropped him again, stroking Ren’s skin with his thumbs as Ren writhed against him.

“Good?” Akechi asked.

“Yes,” Ren breathed. “ _Yes_.”

Akechi curled his hands around Ren’s thighs, hoisted him up, and held him there, half-supported on his knees and half-dangling from Akechi’s vise grip. Akechi paused, and Ren babbled, “Yes, yes, Goro, yes,” and that was unequivocal permission so Goro surged into a ripping rhythm, drumming into Ren so ferociously that his lungs burned and his core ached and his thighs rippled with effort. Stars burst behind his eyelids; Ren’s moan, hiccupping in time with Goro’s thrusts, spurred him on even faster, even harder, probably bruising Ren’s legs with his grip and his ass with his hips but far beyond caring, far beyond conscious thought, out in the white and blinding wilds of lust and bliss.

He was pretty sure he was snarling, his teeth and throat vibrating with the intensity of the sound, but he couldn’t hear it over Ren’s pleas, couldn’t feel anything but the building pressure in his gut and Ren’s fingers scrabbling for purchase on his neck, his shoulders, his scalp. Ren kept arching his back, half-climbing Goro’s body, their skin sliding together; and then slumping back down with his forehead against Goro’s throat, his lips on his collarbone, his hair in Goro’s panting mouth.

Eventually a word cut through the frenzy, through the sturm and drang: “ _Now_ ,” Ren was saying, harsh and guttural, a frenzied tattoo of lips on skin. “ _Now, now, now_.”

Goro put his arm around Ren’s waist and dragged him forward so he was fully propped on Goro’s chest, supporting himself with clinging fingers on Goro’s shoulders. Then, tipping his head back so he could watch Ren’s expression, watch his face tense and his jaw drop, Goro put his hand between them and grasped Ren’s cock.

“ _Gh_ ,” Ren choked, convulsing, tightening around Goro and nearly dragging him over the edge. “ _Gh—hk—_ ”

Goro’s motions were sloppy and desperate, his grip rough even with Ren’s precum slicking his palm, pulling Ren’s dick at the base as many times as he slid his hand along its length. Ren shut his eyes, hid his face in the crook of Goro’s neck, twisted against him, huffing and sobbing, so close so close so close. Goro pushed his thumb into the underside of Ren’s shaft and pulsed it upward in time with his own thrusts, flexing his fingers, trying to squeeze the cum out of him—

And Ren did come. He coughed, went completely rigid, his knuckles white on Goro’s skin, his eyes flying open to stare sightlessly through tiny pupils. His hips flexed forward, spilling hot cum over Goro’s fingers and up his abdomen to his chest; his asshole clenched around Goro’s cock, so tightly that Goro couldn’t move, could only wait and tremble with his hips in the air and his length buried inside of Ren, clutched within that otherworldly heat—

That was what did it, in the end. Goro’s orgasm rolled over him like fire, scouring his skin and leaving him raw and sparkling and new. He _heard_ his cum sputtering out of Ren as Ren started to relax, started to slump forward; he worked his hips upward as best he could, trying brainlessly to hold it inside, like it would serve any purpose there. Ren sagged boneless onto Goro’s chest, humming long and low, _mmm_ , shuddering around him.

Goro came down in stages. His toes uncurled; his grip on Ren loosened; he let go of Ren’s dick, still half-hard. He slowly lowered his butt to the bed, bringing Ren down with him, ran his clean hand across Ren’s back when Ren groaned in protest. Nuzzled Ren’s sweaty temple, sniffed his musky, smutty hair. Absently lolled his head to one side, lifted his cum-slicked hand, licked it clean. It tasted awful. It felt right.

Goro fully intended to savor the afterglow—it wasn’t often he _got_ an afterglow, since Ren usually started chattering almost immediately—but he fell asleep. It happened so fast that he didn’t realize it until he woke up with a crick in his neck. He was unpleasantly sticky, especially where Ren’s cum had started to dry on his skin.

Ren was sleeping too, his cheek plastered to Akechi’s shoulder, his breath hot on Akechi’s neck. Had they been lying down, and marginally cleaner, Akechi might have lingered like that for a bit. As it was, he felt dirty in a bad way, and Ren was starting to stink.

“Ren,” Akechi said, patting his thigh. “Wake up.”

“Muh,” Ren said.

“Wake _up_. We fell asleep.”

Ren inhaled, shifted, peeled his face off Akechi’s shoulder. “Gross,” he mumbled, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “I know what I said about the shower, but...”

“I won’t hold you to it.”

“Good. I’m way too tired for that. Pun intended.”

Akechi groaned and bucked his hips, making Ren yelp. “All right, get off.”

“I think I might be stuck.”

“Then get off _carefully_.”

Sucking his lower lip against his teeth, Ren braced his hands on the headboard, wriggled a bit, and lifted himself off. They hissed in unison, Ren at what was probably a rough drag and Akechi at the chafe across his overstimulated dick.

* * *

Ren settled gingerly onto his bottom and grabbed his water. “I’m not sure I can stand up long enough for a Western shower,” he remarked. Which ruled out the bathroom off their bedroom, fitted as it was with a nontraditional shower encased in glass.

“I’ll haul you to the bathroom.”

“My hero.”

Ren was already dozing again. Akechi caught his water bottle before it slipped from his fingers, drained it, set it down. Then, gritting his teeth, he dragged himself out of bed and made his way down the hall to the family bathroom. He had to force himself to walk at a normal pace: no one else was here; he didn’t have to scurry just because he was naked.

He took his time underneath the nozzle, running the water right at the edge of scalding. Once he was pleasantly pink, he programmed the tub to fill itself and went back for Ren. Ren had settled onto his stomach, his head pillowed on his arms, and managed only a feeble protest when Akechi pulled him to his feet and frog-marched him down the hall. Akechi perched him on the shower seat, where he sat blinking sleepily while Akechi scrubbed him down, washed his hair, and then hoisted him up to clean his back end.

By then, the tub was full and steaming. Akechi hesitated. If he got in first, he could cradle Ren to make sure he didn’t drown, but Ren might topple over while he was getting settled. But if Akechi put Ren in first, he might fall asleep in the water. Presumably he wasn’t so exhausted that he’d _actually_ drown in either scenario, but—

“Aren’t you big spooning?” Ren asked, nudging Akechi.

Akechi made a face. “I wish you wouldn’t call it that,” he muttered, stepping over the side of the tub. “ _Spooning_. What a ridiculous word.”

Ren waited, smiling faintly, until Akechi was comfortable. “And I wish _you_ ,” he said, grimacing slightly as he climbed in too, “weren’t so uptight.”

Akechi didn’t dignify that with a response. Ren settled back against his chest, his head heavy in the crook of Akechi’s neck, and shut his eyes. Akechi put his arms around Ren’s waist and his chin on his shoulder.

They drifted like that for a while, lulled by the heat and the steam. Ren was, Akechi noted vaguely, still surprisingly soft for a man so firmly corded with muscle. More than once, in the privacy of his own mind, he’d compared Ren to a cat: liquid and yielding right up until it disliked whatever you were doing, at which point it turned to flint. Which was just as well, because Akechi was rather sharp and bony, and the only way Ren could possibly tolerate snuggling with him like this was by filling all the gaps on Akechi’s body with his own.

(Ren would have disputed that. Akechi didn’t care.)

Ren was actually snoring. Akechi’s heart compressed. He tightened his grip, kissed Ren’s cheek, and closed his eyes.

***

Later, Akechi woke up nauseous and shaking.

He’d been dreaming. He had a fleeting impression of a clawing, oppressive ache in his chest; an empty hollow in his bed; an absence, painful and yearning as starvation. But the details were lost, maybe mercifully so. Akechi huddled underneath the blankets, breath whistling in his constricted throat, groping with numb fingers at his own ribs, as if by breaking them he could lessen the pressure on his lungs—

The mattress shifted, and soothing warmth washed across him as strong, solid palms found his face, as a forehead made soft by messy curls brushed his own. “It’s okay,” Ren murmured. “You’re okay.”

Akechi clutched his wrist. “Ren,” he croaked, focusing at last on huge, dark eyes barely visible in the gloom, on pale skin cast yellow by a sliver of light from the window. “Ren.”

“It was just a dream,” Ren said, stroking Goro’s cheek with his thumb. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Goro hiccupped. Ren wrapped his arms around him, folded him into his chest, and whispered nonsense into his hair until he fell back to sleep.

By the next morning, when Ren woke him with a cup of coffee, he'd forgotten the dream completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is my favorite chapter. and not (just) because of the smut.


	23. King and Lionheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtyBBoOUgho)
> 
> [_But these problems aside, I think I taught you well_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtyBBoOUgho)
> 
> [
> 
> _That we won’t run, and we won’t run, and we won’t run_
> 
> ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MtyBBoOUgho)

There were approximately six hundred people in their house, and Maya was trying not to be annoyed about it.

It was the Saturday after Sai’s birthday, and they were celebrating with the party, as requested. For Sai, that meant streamers, red and yellow and blue twisted together and taped up throughout the living room and kitchen; a sponge cake with whipped frosting; enough food to break the kitchen table; and, yes, twenty thousand well-wishers. Or, well, fifteen or so. All of Ren and Akechi’s original friends, the _Phantom Thieves,_ were there, along with Sojiro; Hayato’s parents; Yu and Yosuke Narukami; the hyperactive dude with the weird name _—Teddie,_ that was it; Aigis, the robot; and the quiet guy with blue hair.

Far as Maya could tell, it was as much an excuse for the adults to get together as it was for the kids. Sai, Mei, Suzume, Uta, and Hayato ran shrieking around the living room, chasing (or “chasing”) eternally-patient Koro-go. Teddie flitted back and forth between the grown-ups and the kids, stoking the latter’s hype to greater heights. Maya was sandwiched in between, growing increasingly prickly, wondering how much longer she had to “hang out” before she could sneak off to her room.

Right now, she stood at the counter in the kitchen, trying to focus on her tablet. She and the guys were building a model of Iwatodai in Craft-Z, and she had been assigned Gekkoukan High. She was fighting a losing battle, doing something so complex in the midst of so much noise, but she had to get the exterior done so Take and Shinji could start on the interior, and—

“That’s not quite right,” said a low, masculine voice, surprisingly loud for all that it was barely above a murmur.

Maya jumped, whirled around. The blue-haired man was standing beside her, head tilted, peering at her screen.

“What?” she snapped, shook herself, modulated. “Sorry. What did you say?”

“There are four pillars out front,” he said, pointing. “Not five.”

Maya frowned at her tablet. She couldn’t remember, suddenly, if he was right or not. She’d have to check the schematics. It wasn’t a _huge_ deal, a relatively minor fix, but her throat tightened anyway, and before she could stop herself she said, nastily, “How do _you_ know?”

“I went there.”

“What, a billion years ago?”

“Almost,” he said, reminding her so much of Ren that she laughed. Ren would have smiled at that, big and bright, but this guy didn’t. Not unless you counted the slight upward quirk of his mouth.

“Which one are you, again?”

“Makoto Yuki,” he replied.

“Oh, right,” Maya said, pawing through her mental notes until she found the details. Protagonist, Wild Card, Leader; Persona: Orpheus and Thanatos; generally associated with death. “The gloomy one.”

Makoto tilted his head. “I try not to be gloomy, anymore.”

“Well, you don’t talk.”

“Everyone else talks enough, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I do,” she said, with relish. “They never shut up. Especially when they’re together.”

Makoto turned around and leaned back against the counter, putting his hands in his pockets. “I like it,” he remarked, staring straight ahead as if he could see something interesting beyond the walls. “Not the noise, but the talking. I’ve spent a lot of time with silence.”

Why was he telling her this?

“Why are you telling me that?”

“Isn’t that how you make friends?” he asked, looking at her, tilting his head again. “By telling them things?”

“You want to be friends with me,” she said, flat. “A ten-year-old.”

Makoto grimaced. “I’m sorry. I don’t have a lot of practice saying what I mean. Let me try again?”

He seemed to be waiting for permission. “Okay,” Maya said cautiously.

“I like your dads,” Makoto said. “They’re my friends. And they care about you, so I’d like to get to know you better. Then I can care about you too.”

The words felt like a key turning in her heart, opening a padlock. _Ting_. She stood there frozen, hands numb on the countertop; and all at once realized her mouth was hanging open, and shut it.

“Okay,” she stammered, clenching her fists. “Okay. Fine.”

Makoto smiled at her, still nothing to her fathers’ smiles but something substantial anyway, and straightened up, and left the room.

***

Maya fixed the pillars, and by the time she was done, she wanted to go outside. It was cold—it was the fourth of February; of course it was cold—so she shouldn’t go outside, but the impulse was too persistent to ignore. She caught Akechi’s eye on her way out of the living room, almost asking for permission, almost daring him to stop her; but he inclined his head a fraction, and she continued on unimpeded.

Shoes, coat, gloves, even scarf, wrapped loose around her neck so she could bury her nose in it without covering her ears. Then down the hall, through the door, into the backyard.

Maya stood on the patio for a moment, breathing in deeply, and sighed. She wanted, half-expected, the rich and heady smells of flowers, of fruit, of growth, but there was nothing. Wrong season, wrong time.

She trudged across the grass to the empty flowerbeds, prodded the frosty earth with her toe. They could start planting in March. Technically they could start now, if they planted inside, but they didn’t have room to set up pots and seedlings. (Well. Akechi didn’t think they did.) Maya wanted to—

The door behind her went _click_ , and Maya reacted before she’d even registered the sound: she spun around, swayed into an aikido stance, braced to defend—

“Oh!” said the woman standing there, holding up her hands. “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize anyone was out here!”

It was Hayato’s mom. She was tall and slim, like Akechi; she had brown hair like him too, but her eyes were lighter, nearer to hazel, and her face was rounder. She had a high, musical voice. Knowing Ren and Akechi’s friends, she was probably a world-famous opera singer or something.

“No,” Maya said, relaxing with effort. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t, uh...what are you doing here?”

The woman smiled, sly and conspiratorial. “Snooping,” she whispered, tapping the side of her nose. “I wanted to see your setup.”

“Setup?” Maya followed her gaze to the beds. “Oh. There’s not much to see right now.”

“Nonsense,” said the woman, kneeling at the edge of the soil. “There’s always something to see. My name’s Nanako, by the way. I’m guessing you don’t remember.”

Maya flushed. “There are a lot of you.”

Nanako beamed at her. “It’s hard to keep track, isn’t it? When my big—when Yu started bringing all his friends around, I could barely remember their names. And I still don’t know all of Ken’s friends by heart.”

“Ken,” Maya said, searching her memory. “Your husband.”

“That’s right! See, you’ll have us memorized in no time. So.” Nanako turned back to the flowerbeds. “Tell me about your garden.”

Slowly, Maya folded onto her knees. “Well, what I’d like to do is...”

It turned out Nanako was easy to talk to. She listened with an open, ready, encouraging interest, nodding along with everything Maya said. And she knew about gardening. She knew _a lot_ , possibly even more than Haru (“I’ve been doing it since I was very small,” she explained, almost apologetically). She knew about raised beds, and seed starting, and seed collecting, and irrigation, and greenhouses. Maya could have listened to her talk for hours. Unfortunately, they didn’t have hours before their cheeks were chapped and their noses red. Maya would have powered through it, but Nanako ushered her back inside.

“I’m glad we got to chat, Maya,” Nanako told her, smiling. “I hope you’ll let me know how everything goes.”

 _Ting_.

***

It kept happening.

When she agreed to hang out with that one girl at school, _ting_. When she video chatted with Shinji and Kano, _ting_ , _ting_. With Sai, with Ren, with Akechi. Even her mother: a memory, unbidden, of one of the last good days, the last time Maya remembered hearing her laugh, _ting_. A series of chambers opening in the nautilus shell that was her heart. A sense of longing, of anticipation. For what?

She didn’t know, and she didn’t expect to find out anytime soon. Certainly she wasn’t going to ask her dads about it, because she had a feeling they would know, and she didn’t want them to explain. She didn’t want to understand. It was sort of nice, having a puzzle to figure out. Something that was hers and nobody else’s.

There were, she was realizing, a few different puzzles in her life, and though she held this one close to the vest, the others she laid out and examined. First up: she needed to know exactly how all this Persona stuff worked.

So when Ren said, “Your birthday’s coming up next, Maya. What would you like to do?”, Maya said, “I want to go into the Metaverse.”

He stared at her. Akechi lifted his head and stared at her too. Morgana, huddled on the back of the couch, actually gaped, which would have been funny if her blood hadn’t been rushing in her ears.

After a moment, Ren said, “I was thinking, like, a party.”

“I know,” Maya said, lifting her chin. “But I don’t want a party. I want to go into the Metaverse.”

Akechi sighed through his nose, closed his book. “I told you,” he said to Ren, who bristled, and then relaxed. Maya, who was getting better at reading him, could tell from the perfectly smooth lines of his shoulders that he was upset, and hiding it. Well. That wasn’t her problem.

“I mean,” said Morgana, stretching, standing up, “she _does_ have a Persona. And if we go with her—”

“It’s dangerous,” said Ren softly, holding Maya’s gaze.

“No more dangerous than walking to school,” Akechi said, setting his book aside.

“You know that’s not true.”

“And you know that it is.”

Ren didn’t answer. Akechi crossed his legs, folded his hands, leveled a cool, appraising look at Maya. “Why do you want to go?”

She planted her feet, clenched her fists to keep from fidgeting. “I want to know how it works,” she said. “Fighting. Personas. All of it. I want to know everything.”

“We could tell you about it,” Ren murmured.

“But I wouldn’t _know_ , then. Not really.”

Morgana leapt onto the couch proper, sat, coiled his tail around his paws. “She’s right,” he said, with a lofty arrogance that would have grated, had it not been in her favor. “The best way to learn about the cognitive world is to visit it.”

They’d clearly had this discussion before. They’d been _talking about her_ , behind her back. Maya filed that away for later; she couldn’t afford to get mad about it now.

“Why do you want to know?” Akechi asked.

This was the crux of it. The most important question. Her eyes flicked from him, to Morgana, to Ren, and then away, fixing on the wall while she considered her options. Tried to figure out...not the right answer, but the honest one.

She wanted to know because: she was curious. She’d gotten a taste of what she was capable of, and she wanted to see how far she could go. How far this power could take her. She’d heard the stories now, carefully curated, of how high the stakes could get and how strong a Persona could become; she wanted to see for herself what that felt like. It sounded...exciting.

She wanted to know because: she’d liked it. She’d only had access to Irene’s abilities for a few minutes, but they were some of the most exhilarating minutes of her life. The rush of her blood, the snap of her tendons, the smooth glide of her muscles—the sense of _possibility_ , like she could grasp the heart of the world and reshape it into something fair, something right, something true. She craved it.

She wanted to know because: she never wanted to be helpless again.

“If I can use my Persona,” Maya said, “then I can protect the people that matter to me. I can keep them safe.”

“Not from everything,” said Ren, and when she turned to him, he was practically glowing. She almost squinted, resisted the impulse.

“No,” Maya conceded. “But from most things. The things that count.”

“Death,” Akechi offered. “Destruction.”

“Pain and suffering,” Morgana said.

Maya couldn’t speak anymore. She nodded.

Akechi and Morgana both looked at Ren, still the leader, after all this time. He tilted his chin down, peered at Maya through his fringe, tender and searching. She could practically see the gears turning, the golden scales seesawing up and down.

And then, finally, balance. He sat up straight.

“All right,” he said, and Maya brightened. “But we have to figure out the best way to do it. I don’t want to throw you into the deep end too soon.”

Morgana beamed. Akechi picked up his book.

“Okay,” Maya said, trying to keep her expression serious, trying to tamp down the helium filling her chest. “I’ll be patient.”

“Now,” Ren said, resting his elbows on his knees. “What do you want to do for your _birthday_?”

***

Maya made two requests. The first was for cake.

“My mom always made me a chocolate cake with cream in the middle,” Maya told them, in a low, measured voice that made her sound like she was dropping commas between every word. “Not—after—Sai was born, but before. That’s what I want.”

Ren had peppered her with questions: about the flavor, the color, the texture, whether she’d ever seen the recipe, whether her mother had ever mentioned the name, what she remembered of the baking process. They’d spent at least an hour huddled around Ren’s laptop, scrolling through recipes, until they found something close enough: a chocolate cake roll, with chiffon cake instead of sponge and strawberry cream instead of chocolate. None of that meant anything to Akechi, but it meant something to Ren, who threw himself into adjusting the recipe to suit, and then into making and remaking it until he got it right.

The cream didn’t take long to figure out; Maya was nodding happily after the second batch. The cake itself was tougher to crack. It involved _meringue_ , which, when Ren said it, sounded like a curse, and by the end of the process sounded like a curse to Akechi too. Ren was extremely particular about the meringue, and rightly so, because it apparently made a huge difference. Every time a test cake finished cooling, Ren would unroll it, remove the parchment paper, and cut off a small piece for Maya. At the slightest indication that it wasn’t right—initially verbal, eventually a wince once she started to take pity on him—he would mutter, “Too stiff,” or, “too dense,” or, “must’ve had some yolk,” and try again.

“I feel kind of bad,” Maya confided to Akechi and Morgana after the fifth “failed” attempt (they all tasted good) had been sent home with Ann. “It seems like it’s stressing him out.”

“Are you kidding?” Morgana replied, grinning. “He _loves_ this stuff.”

So he did. Akechi knew why everyone associated Maya so strongly with himself, but she and Ren had a lot in common too, chief among them their absolute, single-minded determination. Give them a problem, give them a reason to care about it, and you’d have a solution. It might take a while, but they’d get there. And they’d have the time of their lives doing it. Ren, peering into the mixing bowl or examining the fall of a peak or gently, _so gently_ , spreading batter across a pan, was lit with the kind of fire Akechi had most often seen in the Metaverse, when they were faced with a locked door or an inconvenient wall or a huge, overpowered enemy.

The world was lucky (or unlucky) he’d settled for being a therapist. Give him actual power, and all bets were off.

Fittingly, the eleventh cake was the winner. Maya lit up the moment she tasted it.

“That it?” Ren asked, beaming.

“Mmhm,” she said, licking the spoon. “I think so.”

Ren slathered it with cream, rolled it back into a picture-perfect swirl, and parceled it into slices for each of them. (Even Morgana: chocolate was poisonous to cats, but he was not a cat.) They all sat down at the kitchen table, and Akechi tried not to stare while Maya scooped off a spoonful of cake and cream and put it in her mouth. Ren busied himself making sure Sai didn’t eat her entire piece in one bite, but he was tensed for the verdict.

Maya chewed, swallowed. Scooped another bite, chewed it, swallowed it. A blush spread across her cheeks, gathering brightly red at the tip of her nose. She took another bite, so fast that she couldn’t possibly have tasted the last one, and now her eyes were damp and getting puffy, and—

“Maya,” Akechi said, catching her wrist. “Slow down.”

“I.” Maya hiccoughed, set down her spoon. “It’s.”

“What’s’a matter?” Sai asked, alarmed. “Are you okay?”

“I—miss,” Maya said, crying in earnest now, huge tears and deep, shuddering gasps. She clenched her jaw, clearly trying to hold the words in, but they came out anyway: “ _I miss_ —”

Akechi scooted his chair closer, put his arm around her, drew her to his side. “I know,” he said quietly, as she buried her face in his shoulder and wailed. “I know.”

Stricken, Sai looked up at Ren. “What’s wrong with her?” she whispered.

“She’s sad about your mom,” Ren replied, voice tight. He smoothed Sai’s hair back from her face, tucked it behind her ear. “She used to make this cake for her.”

“Oh...”

Akechi had never had this exact experience. So many of his favorite childhood foods were store-bought, or instant, or microwaveable; he didn’t have a dish that he associated with his mother, specifically. And he’d spent so many years denying and then actively repressing his grief that it wasn’t tied to particular memories or events. By the time he’d started excavating that pain, it was one big, putrid mass, a boil to be drained all at once rather than in stages. If they could give Maya one thing, it would be the space to break and heal and break again, the way Akechi should have been allowed to do.

Even if hearing her cry, feeling her quake in his arms, was like being sliced apart at the seams.

Eventually, her sobs faded to hiccups and her shudders to tremors. She slumped back in her chair, gulping, dragging her sleeves across her cheeks and neck. Morgana settled in her lap, purring like a jet engine.

“Here y’go,” said Sai in a small voice.

Akechi and Maya looked down. Sai had appeared between them, holding out a box of tissues.

“Thanks,” Maya managed, accepting it.

“You’re welcome,” Sai replied.

Ren had come over too, and now he grasped Akechi’s shoulder and squeezed twice. Akechi covered Ren’s hand with his own and squeezed back.

“So I’m guessing it was good,” Ren said, with a cautious smile.

Maya snorted—into her tissue, luckily. “It’s good.” She blew her nose, took another tissue, stared at it. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” Ren said. “Every year.”

Maya’s face crumpled. Morgana purred louder.

“It’ll be easier now that I know what to do,” Ren added. “I bet you could help me make the one for your party. If you wanted.”

Maya swallowed, shook her head. “I want you to make it.”

“Then I will.”

He stepped over, put his arms around her shoulders, and kissed the top of her head.

“I love you,” he murmured. “So much. Your mom did, too.”

Maya stifled a sob and buried her face in her hands.

***

The second request was for _not a party._ “I just want to hang out with my friends,” she said. “We can play Craft-Z or whatever.”

Easy enough. On the Saturday before Maya’s official birthday, Shinji, Take, Kano, and Maya’s school friend, Izumi, flooded into the house. Izumi’s father introduced himself, but didn’t linger; Mitsuru, Akihiko, Kanji, and Naoto stuck around to keep Ren and Akechi company. Maya accepted the customary envelopes of cash with great gravity and a shallow bow, and then handed them off to Akechi and herded her friends into the living room. Within minutes, they were circled up, noses to their tablets and fingers in various bowls and bags of snacks.

It was a much quieter party than Sai’s had been. Sai herself was spending the day at Leblanc with Makoto and Haru. _At Leblanc_ because Sojiro wanted to see her, _with Makoto and Haru_ because he insisted he didn’t have time to look after a toddler, and Futaba and Yusuke had finally gone back to Osaka. Could he have closed the café? Yes. Did it matter, ultimately? Not really. Sai was in high demand among their friends. If they could kill three birds with one stone, more the better.

For the adults, sitting at the kitchen table, the first order of business—well, second order of business, after they’d finished catching up—was what Mitsuru generously described as _a_ _briefing_. She opened her fine, sleek leather bag, took out a pale blue folder, and laid it on the table.

“Your mission,” she said, and Akechi caught the little shiver of anticipation in the word.

She’d been trying to get him and Ren to join the Shadow Operatives for years. In the beginning, if Akechi hadn’t been so busy untangling the snarls in his brain, he might have considered it. But by the time he was fit for service, Ren’s stance was clear: he wanted both of them to stay as far away from the Metaverse as possible. He’d never _said_ so, and he wouldn’t have stopped Akechi if Akechi had decided he was interested; but every time Mitsuru floated the idea, Ren practically turned to stone, and that was enough. Akechi had put him through enough.

But Maya wanted to go, so Ren opened the folder and Mitsuru spread its contents across the table. Akechi and Morgana leaned in to see better. There was a map of one of Tokyo’s quieter neighborhoods, marked with a series of circular red stickers; a few pages of handwritten notes; and a report printed on Kirijo Group letterhead.

“Your timing is perfect,” Mitsuru said. “We first caught wind of this particular anomaly about a month ago, and we’ve been monitoring it since. Preliminary investigations indicate a shallowly embedded cluster, ranging in level from 2 to 10.”

“In other words,” Akihiko said, with a wry smile, “a nest of weaklings. It’s all Pyro Jacks and Jack Frosts.”

“Yes.” Mitsuru tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Normally, I would never consider sending agents of your caliber to deal with something this minor. This would be a strictly trainee mission.”

“Maya’s definitely only a trainee,” Morgana said.

“Barely even that,” Ren murmured, so that only Akechi heard him.

“What are they doin’ there, though?” Kanji asked. “Is Mementos, like...leaking, or something?”

Akihiko shook his head. “Nah. Sometimes you get infestations like this. It happens.”

No one else seemed satisfied with that, so Mitsuru supplied, “This has been happening for quite some time. Before Tartarus, before Nyx. A small group of Shadows will take up residence somewhere, we’ll flush them out, and then a new group will appear in another location. It truly seems to be a relatively benign, ordinary occurrence.”

“One big game of whack-a-mole,” Akihiko said.

“If it was something to be concerned about,” Mitsuru added, “I would tell you all.”

Naoto glanced at Ren and Akechi. “Are you two sure…”

“Maya’s sure,” Akechi said. Ren nodded. “And if we don’t do it with her, she’ll do it alone.”

“Well,” Mitsuru said, “with you beside her, she’ll be in no danger. You have Labrys’s number; she’ll be on standby to assist. But I doubt you’ll need it.”

“Two Wild Cards and the embodiment of human hope?” Akihiko said, smiling. “They’re toast.”

***

By the end of the night, Ren would know that Akihiko was right. But as he, Akechi, Morgana, and Maya made their way across the city, his hands trembled and his mouth was dry. He didn’t have to file this emotion away, didn’t have to save it for later examination. He knew exactly what it was. It was _fear_.

He’d only tasted this particular flavor of adrenaline four other times. On three of those occasions, he’d been in danger, but so had someone he loved. When the bulkhead door dropped, and all hope of saving Akechi with it; when he and the Thieves disappeared in Shibuya Crossing; when he stepped up to face Nyarlathotep alone, with Akechi bleeding out behind him. He knew this about himself already: the prospect of failing the people he cared about, of being unable to protect them, terrified him.

Which was, paradoxically, why he was here. He knew better than Maya that you couldn’t always save the people who mattered, even with Personas. But sometimes you could, and that had to be enough. So he watched her bounce on the balls of her feet, watched her spine straighten and her chin lift and her eyes gleam as they approached the site Mitsuru had indicated. He tried to remind himself that, as long as he and Akechi were with her, she was safe.

Their destination was a narrow residential street, not unlike the ones in Yongen-Jaya. It was full dark, and cold; their breath fogged the air as they passed the squat, lumpy silhouettes of houses packed close together. White light pooled at their feet from the streetlamps overhead, and golden light spilled from the windows on either side, casting an amber sheen across Akechi’s hair, Maya’s jacket, Morgana’s fur.

Akechi was eyeing his phone, tracking their progress toward the heart of the cluster. Under the full light of a streetlamp, near an intersection, he stopped.

“Here,” he said.

“What now?” Maya asked. She’d already shifted into her aikido stance, absently rocking back and forth.

“Now we activate the Meta-Nav,” Morgana replied. “You ready?”

She smiled. “Yeah.”

“Take it away,” Ren told Akechi.

To anyone watching, it would’ve looked like they’d disappeared. One moment two grown men, a young girl, and a cat were standing in the road; the next, they weren’t.

Ren hadn’t used the Meta-Nav in years, so crossing into the Metaverse was simultaneously strange and familiar. Reality went fuzzy at the edges; his clothes changed, morphing into the black tailcoat over red silk; the light all around him turned green and blue and purple. Apart from that, though, Ren might still have been standing in that neighborhood, no Palaces or Jails in sight.

“How come you guys get cool outfits?” Maya asked.

“They used to be cooler,” Ren grumbled, very aware of the clammy air where his mask wasn’t.

“Your outfit’s fine,” Akechi told Maya.

Her jacket had disappeared, but otherwise she was still wearing what they’d told her to wear: a pair of light, stretchy exercise pants, black and white sneakers, and a grey long-sleeved cotton shirt. Her hair, well past her shoulders now, was up in a ponytail; and Paradise Lost, snug in its hilt, had appeared at her waist.

“Yeah,” Maya said, “but you get to wear _suits_.”

“Dapper, but impractical,” Akechi drawled, adjusting his gloves. “I see you have your dagger. Do you know how to summon your Persona?”

She blinked. “Oh. Um…no. She just sort of showed up, last time…let me see.”

Backing away, she fixed her gaze on a point beyond Ren and Akechi and focused. Ren put his hands in his pockets; Akechi folded his arms and canted his hips to one side.

Ren felt the shift in the air before he saw it. A pale blue butterfly, surrounded by tiny motes of light, appeared from nowhere and fluttered past Maya’s face. Its shining reflection flickered in her eyes, casting them from black to grey; and then her dagger was in her hand and she lashed out, slicing the insect in two.

“ _Persona_ ,” she called. “Irene!”

A gust of wind roared upward from her heels, obscuring her. When it cleared, a larger-than-life feminine figure, all white skin and black lace, floated over Maya’s head, clutching a spinning multicolored parasol.

Seeing it, Ren’s buoyant heart lifted him onto tiptoe.

“ _Irene_?” he said, rounding on Akechi.

“Irene _Adler_ , most likely,” Akechi mused, curling his fingers under his chin. “The only woman who ever bested Sherlock Holmes.”

Then he saw Ren’s grin, and scowled. “What’s that look for?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Ren wheedled, sliding closer. “It’s just, Arsene Lupin was one of the only men who ever beat Holmes, and now our kid’s Persona is—”

“And most of my Personas are based on English rebels. I fail to see the connection.”

“Do you, _Detective_?” Ren said, leaning in until they were nearly nose-to-nose. “Do you fail to see it, or just not want to?”

God, but there was something about the Metaverse. Akechi glared at him, stalwart and sullen, and if it wasn’t for the mission and their audience—

“Uh, gross,” Maya said, behind them. “You guys are gross.”

“They really are,” Morgana sighed.

Maya looked down at him, bristled, and leapt backward a full five feet, blurring briefly into something like a smear of paint. She landed lightly, stumbled, goggled at her dads. “How did I do that?” she gasped, and looked at Morgana again. “Agh! What is that thing?”

“What _am_ I?” Morgana repeated, scandalized. “What d’you mean? I’m me!”

Maya squinted at him. “ _Morgana_?”

“Who else would it be?” he spat, tail puffing.

“You look like a gremlin!”

“I do not! This is my true form!” At her dubious look, he hopped up and down, flailing his paws. “I’ll have you know, I’m _extremely_ cute!”

“You’re cuter as a cat.”

“ _I’m_ _not a cat_!”

“Quiet,” Akechi said. “They’re coming.”

The Third Eye had never left Ren, after all this time, and he could see them now too: three bright green blobs, no bigger than footballs, slithering toward them from the next block over. Maya stood up straighter, her eyes suddenly huge.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” she said.

“That’s okay,” Ren said, holding out his hand. She didn’t take it, but she did come to stand beside him, and he squeezed her shoulder. “We do.”

They settled into formation: Ren and Akechi at either end of the line, with Maya on Ren’s right and Morgana on Akechi’s left. As he drew his dagger, Ren couldn’t help glancing at Akechi, and then couldn’t help staring.

He knew that Akechi had access to multiple Personas now, and would, if given the chance, be able to collect even more. He was, like Ren, a fully-fledged Wild Card. But Ren hadn’t noticed until tonight that his existing Personas’ Arcanas had changed. Akechi’s heart glittered like a diamond, throwing shining facets across the asphalt: _Justice, Fool, Hanged Man, Magician, Fortune_. Robin Hood, Loki, Hereward, Mordred, Chronos. The sight was a vise around Ren’s ribs, squeezing tight. So much of Akechi’s journey, of his _growth_ , was written in those assignations. Ren wondered if Akechi had noticed. If he knew.

No time to talk about it now. Maya’s gasp, beside him, indicated they had company, and so he turned to meet it. Yes: three shapeless, sludgy creatures oozed out from between the buildings, dragging themselves forward with clawed hands. Whatever faces they possessed were hidden behind ovoid white masks.

“You got this,” Morgana said, brandishing his falchion. “We’ll be right behind you.”

The creatures were a few feet away when they finally erupted into proper Shadows: three Jack o’ Lanterns and two Jack Frosts, twirling through the air and hopping from foot to foot, respectively.

“ _Makarakarn_ ,” said Rook, and a transparent shield flickered to life in front of Maya.

“What should I,” Maya murmured, glancing at each of their enemies in turn.

“Trust your instincts,” Akechi said.

Her gaze sharpened. She spread her feet, dug in her heels; ran her thumb along Paradise Lost’s hilt, fitted neatly to her palm. And then she leapt into the fray.

Rook, Akechi, and Morgana fanned out, circling the field, tracking Maya’s progress. Rook kept up a steady stream of Makarakarns, shielding Maya from the numerous blows the Shadows levied at her: flames that dissipated into smoke, ice that collapsed into snowflakes. Occasionally he motioned for Morgana or Akechi to intercept an especially nasty strike with a shot or slash.

But even if they hadn’t been there, Maya could probably have held her own. For one thing, she was fast. She was _really_ fast, and nimble, able to duck and weave and glide and roll like a bird in flight. Her Persona was strong: Rook recognized Irene’s moveset, with an aching nostalgia, as Arsene’s. And for all that Maya’s inner self, her soul, mirrored Rook’s, her outer self—alight, beaming, sometimes laughing outright as her dagger plunged into a pumpkin head or doughy belly—was Akechi in spades. She was all sharp edges and swift motion and blazing eyes, not quite screaming bloody murder at her opponents but certainly lording their failings over them. She taunted them. “Too slow,” she’d say, or, “Is that all you’ve got?”

By the time she’d felled the first wave, another had arrived: five more Jack o’ Lanterns and one Jack Frost. Maya spun on her heel, shouted, “ _Cleave_!” and a blast of white light cut a Jack o’ Lantern in half. An echoing slash arced across her ribs, but Morgana healed it with an easy _Salvation_.

So went the second wave, and the third. When the fourth arrived, Maya was flushed, breathless, but still grinning, still triumphant. Cocky. She was also well on her way to level 5, and feeling her strength.

Still: it was Rook’s fault, because he missed his cue.

There were only three Shadows left, one Jack o’ Lantern and two Jack Frosts. The Jack o’ Lantern aimed an _Agi_ at Maya that rippled across the clear barrier and vanished; and as Maya darted in to finish it off, barking a laugh, one of the Jack Frosts cried, “ _Bufu_!”

Maya was distracted, and Rook was distracted, and so the icy star formed and burst directly in front of her face. She rocketed backward off her feet, hit the ground with an _oof_.

Akechi, snarling, drew his sword, but Ren beat him out.

“Metatron,” he said, without thinking about it, without consciously doing it, so loud was the sudden roaring in his skull. “ _Megidolaon_.”

When the dust cleared, the Shadows were a scorch on the pavement. Maya, grimacing, white-faced, started to sit up.

“Ow,” she squeaked, faltering. “ _Ow_.”

All three of them were on her at once. Ren, flinging himself down beside her, said, “Cybele, _Salvation_ ,” and the color returned at once to her cheeks. Akechi dropped to one knee to run his hands over her arms and legs, and Morgana peered worriedly into her eyes.

“Are you all right?” Akechi and Ren demanded, almost in unison.

Maya seemed more alarmed by their reaction than by the injury. “Uh,” she said, recoiling. “Yes?”

“It doesn’t seem like anything’s broken,” Akechi muttered, prodding her ribs. She flinched away, ticklish.

“It shouldn’t be, Salvation covers everything,” Ren said.

“What happened? I thought you were shielding—”

“I know, I was, but it happened so fast—”

Maya looked at Morgana. “What’s wrong with them?”

“You got hurt,” Morgana replied, not quite hiding his smile. “Are you really okay?”

“Yeah. Kinda sore, but—”

Slowly, wincing a little, Maya got up. Ren made a flustered turkey noise and Akechi said sharply, “Don’t move, we still haven’t—”

“I’m fine,” Maya replied, stretching. Her back and shoulders crackled with released tension. “I’m _great_.” She lit up as she smiled, big and broad and shameless. “That was awesome.”

Ren couldn’t quite believe that she was okay. It had been a direct hit, with a skill she was weak to; she could have been knocked out, or seriously hurt; it was a minor miracle that she was standing here now, luminous, glowing. Then again, it was a minor miracle that Maya was standing anywhere, considering what she’d been through.

The fear was back, clawing at his lungs. But he didn’t want to spoil this moment for her, so he pushed it down, grinned, stood up.

“You did great,” he said.

“Yes,” Akechi said, rising too. “You’re a natural.”

“You’re really fast,” Morgana said. “And you dodge so well! Even this guy—” He motioned at Ren—“had to get Sumire to teach him how to do stuff like that.”

Maya seemed to swell under the praise, shining like a full moon. “Yeah?”

“Yeah! You should’ve seen him.” Morgana snickered. “Trying to do handstands—he kept falling over—”

“You don’t _have_ to bring that up,” Ren said, wincing.

“Can you tell that you’ve gotten stronger?” Akechi asked, studying her.

Folding her hands across her chest, Maya nodded. “Mmhm. I can feel it. It’s not like after aikido; it’s like...all at once. It’s nice.”

“Warm,” Ren said.

“Yeah.”

He wanted to be happy for her. He really did. She was obviously happy for herself; her smile had shrunk, but was no less bright for being smaller, and she stood with her weight forward on her toes like she could have danced around the street. He _was_ proud, and relieved that she could take care of herself, and...trying not to think of all the ways that this power could hurt her.

“You did great,” Ren repeated, ruffling her hair. “Let’s go home.”

By the time they reached the station, Maya was asleep on her feet, too tired to protest when Akechi looped one of her arms around his waist to keep her upright. She dozed against Akechi while they waited for their train, roused herself long enough to trudge on and find a seat, and then leaned with a sigh into the curve of Ren’s shoulder. Morgana curled up in Ren’s bag and dozed off too.

As they rattled and jumped along the track, Ren studied Maya’s placid face, her disheveled hair, the narrow span of her shoulders. She was so close that he could feel her heart beating, her lungs expanding as she breathed, soft inside the delicate cage of her ribs.

Yu was right. Sixteen year olds were babies. Maya was so small and so fragile; it seemed impossible that she would ever be old enough, tall enough, strong enough to face the things Ren and Akechi had faced. Certainly she wouldn’t be there in five years.

How had they done it? How had they carried the weight of all of those expectations without bending, without breaking? They hadn’t even had each other, really. They’d been faced with the impossible, and yet Ren could never remember wavering. What he did remember, constant and clear, was the determination flickering like a lit match inside his chest. In spite of everything, he’d always believed that he could fix what needed fixing, obstacles be damned. Akechi had thought he knew better, thought he could prove Ren wrong, but he hadn’t.

The world had pitted itself against them, and they’d won.

Would it work out like that for her, too? Could Ren give her that fire? Could Akechi?

Akechi put his arm around Ren’s shoulders, enveloping Maya between them.

“Your face will stick like that, you know,” he said, brushing his thumb across Ren’s forehead.

Ren smiled at him, but his mouth felt tight. “What’s a few more wrinkles? I think they make me look distinguished.”

“They make you look anxious,” Akechi said. “Are you? Anxious?”

“Nah.”

“About Maya?”

“Nothing to be anxious about yet,” Ren said, shrugging one shoulder.

Akechi grasped Ren’s chin, forced Ren to look at him. “Yet?”

Ren paused, searching Akechi’s expression. Finally he said, quietly, “You know it’s coming, sooner or later. The call. Probably the Velvet Room.”

“Yes. So?”

“So, I didn’t want that for her. I wanted to give her—a life. A normal one. A _happy_ one.”

Akechi narrowed his eyes. “Our life’s not happy?”

“You know what I mean.”

“There’s no such thing as a normal life, Ren.” Akechi cupped Ren’s jaw in his palm, ran his thumb over his cheek. Ren shut his eyes. “You should know that by now. If it wasn’t this, it would be something else, eventually. At least this, we know how to deal with.”

Ren said nothing, but reached up to grip Akechi’s wrist.

“Besides.” Akechi leaned in, pushing their foreheads together. “She’s already ahead of the game.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“She’s got us.”

A seedling of hope unfurled within Ren’s heart, spreading soft, warm leaves into his lungs.

No matter what happened, Maya wouldn’t have to go through exactly what they’d gone through. Not for her the blind stumble into the Shadow World, the helpless fumbling with her own power, the slow and baffling build to earth-shattering, god-killing stakes. Even if they weren’t right beside her every step of the way, even if (when) she had to walk her path with her own friends and allies, she’d know they had her back. She’d be ready.

They would make sure of it.

“She’s got us,” Ren repeated, like a vow, and kissed him.

***

April 10 again. The years were getting shorter.

Akechi, carrying a tray of seedlings out to the backyard, paused in the doorway. Maya knelt by the flowerbed, her high ponytail spilling over her shoulder. As he watched, she blew her bangs out of her eyes, set down her trowel, and turned to speak to Sai, who stood next to her watching her work. Probably Maya was fussing that Sai was crowding her. Yes: Sai glared at her sister, puffing herself up, giving as good as she got.

Sometimes he worried about them, their obvious animosity. Was that how sisters were supposed to act? _Yes_ , said Sae Niijima’s voice in his head, audibly rolling her eyes. _You worry too much_.

Morgana lay in the grass nearby, basking in the sunshine. His ear twitched lazily underneath a circling honeybee. On the patio, Ren sat at the small metal table, hands hovering over his laptop, eyes on the girls. Akechi noted, not for the first time, the fine line between his brows.

Akechi walked over to him and set the tray down. Ren glanced up, smirked.

“Your face’ll stick like that, you know,” he said, poking Akechi’s forehead.

Akechi blinked, raised his eyebrows. “My wrinkles make me look distinguished.”

“No, my love. They just make you look old.”

“I am not old.”

“Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

“Cocky,” Akechi growled, narrowing his eyes. “What makes you think you can speak to me like that?”

Ren’s eyes gleamed. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Ah, so _that’s_ what this is. Typical. You’ve always been a glutton for punishment.”

“The word you’re looking for is _masochist_.”

“That, too,” Akechi said, so close now that their noses brushed.

Ren grinned, lifted his chin, pressed their lips together. Akechi tolerated this for two whole seconds before he hooked his fingers into the hinge of Ren’s jaw and kissed him properly, with tongue.

“ _Eww_ ,” Sai squawked, away across the grass.

“God, you guys are gross,” Maya complained.

Ren smiled against Goro’s mouth and leaned away, just far enough to draw breath. “I love you.”

“I know,” Goro said, smiling back. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ugh I love these guys so much
> 
> I could write about Ren and Akechi going through the domestic motions uhhhhhh forever. For-e-ver. And maybe I’ll do that in oneshots, but when it comes to epic novel-length stories, I think we’re finished! I did everything I wanted to do. We’re good here. Which is sad and strange to think about, because these characters have taken up So much real estate in my brain for So long, rent-free. And I’ve loved sharing them with you week by week more than I can express.
> 
> Thank you for indulging my impulse to inject random small children into the lives of these characters. Thank you for your patience with the angst and your tolerance for the fluff and your trust, somehow, that everything would in fact be all right. Most of all, thank you for reading and commenting. For the past three months, Tuesdays and Fridays have been my favorite days of the week, thanks in no small part to the excitement of getting to hear from everyone in the comment section. I’m so grateful to all of you for taking the time to tell me how you felt and what you thought about this story. And whether you commented or not, I’m so, so grateful that you stuck around to the end.
> 
> Enough out of me. There’s always room in my heart for more shuake, so I’ll see you all around!
> 
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> [twitter](https://twitter.com/frockbot)


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